Sympathy For The Devil
by Silksteel
Summary: The prison group get a second chance to do right by Merle Dixon when he's kidnapped by the Governor, and to Beth Greene, for whom family means everything, leaving him behind again is not an option. A Merle/Beth story about forgiveness, redemption, and love in an apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1

_Author Note: There's no excuse for this. I miss Merle, and AMC can suck it. If you're a stickler for realism or uncomfortable with the age gap between Merle and Beth, go find something else to read. For the rest of you, fair warning: my spelling is English, my comma is Oxford, and this isn't one of those instant gratification stories..._

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter One**

_A Walking Dead Fanfic by Silksteel_

* * *

"He said he couldn't come back."

If Beth Greene was a little older, a little wiser, a little more mature, she might've recognised it for the self-pitying bullshit it was. But she was young, and sweet, and forgiving, and she couldn't stand to think that any one of them - even the man she'd deemed a jerk - felt like there was no way back from their despair. She watched as Daryl paced in front of the table, glaring alternately at Rick and Michonne. The former had the good grace to look ashamed of himself, and so he should. Beth couldn't tell what Michonne was thinking from what little she said - no one ever could - but Beth wouldn't blame her for hating all of them, even if she _had_ come back. Rick had been set on giving her up to that monster, for however brief a time, and he engaged the services of the one man he knew would go through with it.

"Then I'm goin' after him," Daryl informed them, a growl through his teeth.

"Daryl -"

"I tol' ya this weren't the way to go, an' now he's got my brother," he snapped at Rick, yanking his arm out of the other man's grip. "Merle ain't ever done nothin' like this his whole life."

Beth traced a long scratch on the table with the tip of her finger. Once Michonne and later Daryl had returned to the prison, without Merle but carrying his arm apparatus, dry-eyed and furious, the whole sorry story had spilled horrifically into the open forum. She'd always been aware that her daddy, Rick and Daryl made most of the decisions for the group, and that had been fine by her - but this was different. They weren't a democracy, true, but she'd trusted in Rick that he'd choose the course that would preserve their humanity as well as their lives. After Shane, they all saw how important it was that they not descend the slippery slope into savagery just because there wasn't a society to hold them accountable any more.

Instead, Rick had made them all complicit in what would have been Michonne's torture and eventual death. And the self-proclaimed necessary evil among them had been the one to free her and sacrifice himself instead. He couldn't have climbed higher in Beth's estimation than he did with that one act - and even though it hadn't been her choice to send Michonne to the Governor, she still felt the stain on her soul as if she'd pulled a gun on the other woman.

"I'll go with you," she said softly, raising her eyes to look at Daryl, his back stiff and arms crossed over his ragged shirt.

He didn't immediately register what she'd said, and Beth supposed that was understandable. The number of walkers she'd dispatched since this all started could comfortably be counted on the fingers of one hand. She wasn't even really sure what use she could be to the rescue effort, except as maybe a decoy.

"Beth, sweetheart, I know you want to help, but -"

She pursed her lips as her father's hand came to rest on her shoulder. "No, Daddy," she interrupted firmly. "Don't tell me I can't. You were going to let Rick send her to die without even telling us. If Merle hadn't done the right thing...it'd be on everyone -"

"The right thing?" Glenn snarled, speaking up for the first time. "That asshole took her in the first place, just like he took me and Maggie! He's nothing but a murderer -"

Daryl's crossbow swung up reflexively. "Don't talk 'bout my brother like that," he spat. "Ya left him ta die on that roof in Atlanta, an' he didn't kill ya when he found ya agin. He don't owe ya nothin'."

"Now, son, just calm down, this isn't helping anyone," Hershel interrupted, his tone measured as the two men sized one another up.

"Stay out of it, old man. Glenn's tha one as made me choose between y'all an' my own kin; he's tha reason Merle felt like he had to go off like that in tha first place."

Next to her, Beth felt Carol stiffen and rise from the table. "Oh, Glenn, you didn't!" she cried, her expression stricken. Everyone knew how devastated Carol had been when Daryl didn't return to the prison, and everyone had assumed Merle was the one to force him away from them. Hearing that one of their own was responsible tore the wound wide open again.

"He threw a walker at me!" Glenn spat, barely glancing at Carol. "He handed Maggie over to a man who would've raped her! He's a monster, and I don't care if he's your brother, he doesn't belong here -"

Daryl stepped forward, trembling with fury, and Beth seriously thought he might shoot Glenn. Maggie was screaming, Carol was crying, her daddy was pleading for everyone to take a minute.

"THAT'S ENOUGH," Rick bellowed, smashing his fist down on the table and sending a cascade of plastic cups clattering to the floor. He was breathing hard, nostrils flaring with each heavy inhale, and Beth instinctively drew away from him, remembering the gleam of madness in his eyes the night he'd thrown Tyreese's group out of the prison. "Everybody just _shut the hell up_."

Upstairs in her crib, Judith began to wail.

"I got it," Carl said quickly, pushing Beth back down into her seat as she began to rise. He knew what was coming, she suspected, and he was sensible enough to get out of the way before it did.

"This is what's going to happen," Rick continued in a calmer voice once everyone had fallen silent. "Daryl and I are going after Merle." And he should too, Beth thought. She didn't know exactly what happened in Atlanta, but it shouldn't have ended with a man desperate enough to cut off his own hand to save his life. Then after it, which should've been enough, Rick used Merle to do his dirty work. Beth couldn't believe this man was the same one who'd been their leader for the last eight months. "Everyone else stick to the plan and get ready for the Governor's retaliation. Merle's bought us a day or so, at best, and we need to take advantage of it." Even after everything that had happened in the last few weeks, he still spoke with such authority that everyone began to automatically do what he said, though it wasn't without a measure of reluctance.

Glenn and Maggie sloped away, the man still scowling mulishly. Much as she loved her sister, Beth wondered at her choice; they'd both been raised to believe forgiveness should be offered to all, but her own boyfriend didn't seem to know the meaning of the word. He'd been so different since they were kidnapped, not at all the sweet man she'd come to know.

She could still feel her father hovering worriedly behind her and steeled herself, but it was Michonne that spoke first. "I'm going with you," she said simply, stepping out of the shadow of the wall, her ever-present sword slung across her back.

Daryl nodded once, tersely, and she knew he was still too riled up to realise that it was a significant leap forward for his brother, if he was still alive. Beth couldn't bear the thought of him - of anyone - dying alone and in agony, thinking he'd been abandoned by his own blood. Her throat ached at the very idea of it, closing against the flood of unexpected emotion. She barely even knew Merle, but when it had been Maggie in that position and she'd had to sit here safe wondering if she'd ever see her sister again...

"I'm coming too," she said with more confidence than she felt, straightening up from the table, gaze on her father.

"Beth..."

"Daddy, I want to help."

"An' how ya plannin' on doin' that?" Daryl asked with what sounded like a mixture of doubt and genuine interest. "We ain't got time to keep an eye on ya; these people won't hesitate ta kill ya."

Beth bit her lip. "I could provide a distraction of some kind," she offered lamely, wishing she'd stood up for herself a little more and learned to properly handle herself the way Maggie could.

"No, we can't risk it," Rick said flatly. "You don't have the experience, Beth, and we don't have ammo to waste."

"Let the girl come," said Michonne, her deep smokey voice the last one Beth would've thought to speak up in her defence.

"I said -"

"I heard what you said, and I'm saying you're wrong," Michonne continued on blithely, her unsettling dark eyes boring into Beth's own. "The Governor's going to be on high alert after Merle's stunt. We won't make it inside Woodbury before his goons shoot us full of holes. But -" the older woman tipped her chin towards Beth. "She might."

"If you're proposing to use my daughter as bait -"

"Michonne's right," Beth interrupted, putting a comforting hand on her father's arm. "They don't stand a chance if the Governor has even half the force Merle told us about. But he doesn't know about me, and -" she huffed out a sarcastic little laugh. "Let's face it, I don't look like much of threat. If I can get in and find out where they're holding Merle…"

"It's too dangerous," Rick said, shaking his head.

Beth stood her ground stubbornly, and turned to the last member of their group, knowing it was his vote that would make the difference. "Daryl?"

"You wanna do this fer my brother? After what he did to Glenn an' Maggie?"

She could hear the note of disbelief in his tone and she made sure to meet his eyes before she responded. Daryl respected people who tried to do things for themselves; hopefully, he'd show her the same courtesy. "We're a family now," she said firmly, flipping her long hair out of her eyes and squaring her shoulders. "All of us. No one gets left behind or sold out, not any more. I want to do this for you, and for your brother. And I'm the only one who can."

* * *

Beth didn't have to fake her terror, every bit of it was real, from the crazy pounding of her heart inside her ribcage to the tears that left streaks through the dirt on her face. She knew Michonne, Rick and Daryl were in the trees on either side of her, keeping pace, making sure the walkers didn't get so close that she couldn't outrun them. Rotten blood was clotting beneath her nails and drying her faded camisole to a disturbing crispness. She'd been sweaty before, and grubby too, when they had to preserve water on the road, but this was something new. They had to make it look like she'd fought off a few walkers, make it look authentic enough to pass muster.

Darkness was falling fast. As the outline of the structure she knew to be Woodbury came into view, Beth heard Daryl give a quiet hoot, and took it as her signal. Forcing a sob into her breath, she stumbled out from between the trees, jerkily looking back over her shoulder as if the hounds of hell itself were chasing her. "Oh god, oh god somebody help me -" she wailed, ricocheting off one of the abandoned cars that littered the road and letting loose with a genuine shriek as a decomposing arm reached out from within it to snatch at her.

Up ahead, she could hear a commotion as the gate guards became aware of her presence. "Help!" she tried again, her voice high and hysterical, dissolving into gasp of panic when a walker cut across her from the forest. Brandishing the small revolver they'd given her - a sacrificial weapon with only two bullets inside - Beth shot for the head. She misjudged it, or her shaking hands betrayed her, she wasn't sure which - but the round clipped shoulder, spinning the corpse around for a moment until it got its bearings and came back on course.

Fumbling with weapon, she almost dropped it when it slipped within her sweaty grasp. The others had promised to intervene if it looked as if she was overwhelmed - it was the only way her daddy had let her go, and not without an ocean's worth of tears and misgivings - but Beth knew if they did there was a chance they'd all be killed by the Governor's men this close to the gate.

The booming echo of a rifle rang out, and she screamed, dropping into a crouch, arms curling up over her head as if it would protect her. After a moment, Beth realised she wasn't bleeding; the walker who'd tried to attack her was slumped in a heap not two steps away.

"Over here girl," she heard a man's voice call out from the wall. "Quickly! There's more coming!"

Scrambling up, Beth forced herself into a heavy run. It was supposed to look realistic, that she had been running for hours, exhausted and frightened and lost. But she was thin, malnourished like they all were, and even the short jog through the forest to collect her entourage of wandering walkers had taken it out of her more than she was willing to admit. By the time she made it to the gate, she was wishing she'd never heard of Merle Dixon. She should've listened to her daddy and stayed at the prison where it was safe — no. No, Beth told herself stubbornly. If they pulled this off, she'd be saving a life. The pain in her legs and her chest and the terror in her veins were nothing in comparison to that.

Nevertheless, when the gates opened and she was yanked through, Beth collapsed sobbing into the arms of the person responsible, the gate guard who'd called out to her. "It's alright girl, you're alright, you're safe," he soothed, stroking her hair in attempt to calm her down. "The biters can't hurt you now, you're fine."

When she got control over her leaping emotions, her fists loosened allowing the man's t-shirt out of her grasp, and she looked up into the face of her saviour.

Tyreese's eyes widened in shock and recognition.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author Note: Thanks for the reviews! You guys are amazing. And Merle...Merle will be making his first appearance tomorrow. In the meantime, here's a bit more of Beth not being a total waste of space._

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Oh no. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. Beth stared up at him, her lips pressed into a flat and trembling line as she shook her head minutely, pleading to him in silence not to say anything. If the Governor found out she was from the prison, she'd be locked up along with Merle…if he didn't just kill her outright.

"What's going on out here?" a deep and commanding voice boomed from behind them, and Beth realised they were surrounded by people, all of them clucking like so many concerned hens. They parted to allow the man through, tall and imposing and dressed all in black with a patch over one eye.

The Governor.

Beth instinctively drew back, almost moulding herself to Tyreese's side, her breath quickening in fear. She prayed to God he wouldn't say anything. Even if she didn't know that this man was a monster, a psychopath who kept severed walker heads as trophies, terrorised her sister and Glenn, plotted to kill her family, Beth would've been afraid of him. She didn't know how the others couldn't feel the menace rolling off him in waves. The Governor made Merle look like a saint by comparison, and he'd been the unnamed bogeyman they'd been frightened of before.

She tried to make herself as small as possible, huddling into the crook of Tyreese's arm, her breaths coming out in small, sobbing pants as she shook with fear and exhaustion. If she'd been acting, Beth would've thought it to be overdone, but she wasn't.

"She was outside the wall," Tyreese explained slowly. "Biters all over the place…I know it ain't the rules but I couldn't let her be got out there." He encouraged her to move forward a little, and she stumbled, knees turning to jelly as she realised he - for whatever reason - had decided not to give her up.

The Governor was the one to catch her this time, and Beth fought to keep herself from panic at having his hands on her, even if he was only holding her by the arms. "Where did you come from, child?" he asked kindly, leaning down to get closer to her level.

"M-my sister and I, we had a camp on the road, got overrun -" Tears welled in her eyes once again, and distantly, Beth marvelled at her ability to produce so many. Michonne had coached her on the story three times over to make sure it was seamless; she was grateful for the reminder. "Those _things _got her, and I ran…I ran…I've got no bullets left and no food and -" she broke off into choked sobs that shook her thin shoulders, hoping that Tyreese would understand the necessity of the charade, and pass it onto the others in their group before they spilled her secret.

"Shhh," the Governor murmured, rubbing her arms slightly and petting her hair, oblivious to how her stomach curdled. "You're safe now. I'm sorry this happened to you, but you're welcome here. We'll protect you."

Sniffling slightly, Beth forced herself to nod and look appropriately grateful. She'd had one shot left in her revolver, but she'd dropped it somewhere outside the gate when Tyreese snagged her, she realised. The only weapon she had was the knife Daryl had given her concealed inside her boot; Beth hoped the Governor wouldn't order her searched. She might not be able to use the knife with any degree of skill - but if she found Merle, he'd need _something _weapon-wise. "Thank you," she whispered glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, eyes wide and impossibly blue. Michonne had also been the one to brief her about the Governor, and she'd understood why the older woman had stood up for her - ever the pragmatist, Michonne realised that Beth wasn't so far removed from his daughter. She thought that he'd maybe be more amenable to accepting her if she reminded him of Penny.

Giving her a smile she could only read as sinister, though she was fairly certain it was sincere, the Governor nodded as if he was satisfied. Then he stood up and looked around, lifting one hand off her to point to someone in the crowd. "You -" he rumbled, and Beth wondered if he even knew all their names. "Show the girl to a guest house. Make sure she eats something and check her out for injuries."

Then, just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he was walking away - and Beth found herself standing next to Tyreese's sister.

* * *

With no other choice, Beth followed silently after Sasha, trying to decide how to handle this unexpected situation. Rick had all but kicked them out of the prison and that counted against her. On the other hand, Carl had saved their lives in the tombs, and her father had patched them up. She hoped Tyreese wasn't the only one willing to keep her secret; she had no choice but to trust them now.

Sasha ushered her into a cozy looking apartment on the ground floor of a two-storey building. It was a little hokey, but it was worlds away from what they had at the prison. Woodbury might've been a place of nightmares, but it didn't look the part.

"Okay, what the hell?" Sasha demanded once she'd shut and locked the door behind them. "Why are you here, Beth? Did Rick turn you out? Is your father -"

"Shh, no," Beth whispered urgently, looking around, afraid someone might overhear them. "No, the Governor…he captured one of our group, he's keeping him locked up here in his little torture chamber."

"_What_?"

She winced at the volume of Sasha's voice. "Please…please be quiet," she begged. "If he finds out I'm from the prison, he'll kill me."

Sasha opened her mouth as if to dispute it, then shut it abruptly. "Andrea?"

Beth frowned. "What about her? Did something happen?"

"She set off for the prison…she went yesterday, to warn you…she never made it?"

Shaking her head, Beth felt cold settle into her chest and take root there. "Andrea's smart," she whispered. "She's a good fighter. It'd take more than walkers to stop her. The Governor must've found out -"

Sasha didn't say anything for a long moment, dragging her hands over her face as if trying to erase her worry. "I don't know who to trust any more," she admitted. "First Rick turfs us out, now you're saying the Governor's some sort of…crazy…you know he's telling the people here your group are murderers. Just this afternoon they got jumped at the grain depot -"

"It was a trap," Beth said sharply, lowering herself into a chair at the small dining table and laying her shaking hands out on the cool pine. "He tried to make a deal with Rick to hand over Michonne."

"Why?"

"She came here with Andrea; they travelled together since she got separated from our group eight months ago. The Governor's men picked them up…kidnapped them at gunpoint. Andrea got involved with him, but Michonne insisted on leaving. He sent a patrol out to - to kill her," Beth stuttered, wrapping her arms around herself. "She got away and found us, warned us that the Governor had taken my sister and her boyfriend. They tortured them…and that's when you guys showed up. The others were staging a rescue. If we'd known -"

Sasha had dropped into the chair opposite as Beth talked, and she shook her head looking dazed. "Shit," she muttered. "Tyreese…he had a bad feeling about the Governor when we heard about the biters he was rounding up."

He mouth twisted, and her eyes glimmered, and Beth swiped quickly at the corner of her eye. "He already did that to us once," she murmured. "Knocked down the outer gate, flooded the place with them. Daddy and Rick were out in the middle of it."

"Are they -?"

"They're fine. But he killed Axel...shot him in cold blood…he was standing there in the yard, talking to Carol and the Governor just…"

"Jesus," Sasha breathed. She seemed not to know what else to say. Then - "So, this afternoon -?"

"Right. This afternoon," Beth said hesitantly, thinking fast. If she told Sasha what really happened, what Rick did and the part Merle played in it, there was every chance she'd refuse to help at all. She didn't want Sasha to think that the Governor and Rick were as bad as each other. "Our man, the one that's being held, he went to scout the place out, found a whole ambush waiting. And he…" she pressed her lips together, trying to imagine what Merle was thinking as he approached the meeting place. "He just lost it. Tried to take out the Governor then and there, hoping that would stop the war, that we'd be left in peace. But he was got first and now…"

"Wait, you're telling me _one guy_ did all that?"

Beth's mouth curled up slightly at the corner. That sounded like Merle alright. "Yeah. He was fighting for us," she said softly. "His brother is one of ours…he was just trying to give us a chance."

"He killed Ben," Sasha informed her quietly. "So if Allen sees you…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish things hadn't happened this way. When you were with us — Rick just lost his wife…he wasn't thinking straight…now more people are dead."

They sat there in silence for a while, Beth looking at her hands, Sasha staring off into space, each lost in their own thoughts until the older woman suddenly stood up. "Alright, you need to get cleaned up," she said abruptly. "Allen's resting up for tomorrow's battle so he shouldn't be around. I'm going to go let my brother know what's happening."

As she moved towards the door, Beth reached out to touch her arm timidly. "Please -"

Sasha shook her head. "I'm not going to tell the Governor. You and your father were good to us, and that boy saved our lives. Far as I'm concerned, we owe you one."

Licking dry lips, Beth nodded. "Thank you…and Sasha? Sometime past midnight -" she took a deep breath, hoping she was doing the right thing. "Make sure you're not out on the street. No matter what you hear, don't come out."

Her eyes darkened. "Gonna set biters on us?"

"No, not if we can help it. It's just…we're outnumbered and outgunned, and the others want this over. Now. We can't keep living like this, and the Governor wouldn't agree to peace with us. He wants us dead, no matter what."

"Jesus," Sasha growled again, unlocking the door. "I'll be back."

* * *

There was something perverse about enjoying a warm shower whilst somewhere in this creepy little township Merle was being tortured by a sadistic monster. Andrea too, possibly, though Beth acknowledged that was the best possible outcome in this situation. As she scrubbed the blood and dirt from her skin and watched it circling down the drain, Beth reflected on how far beyond her maturity level all of this was. With the added variables of Sasha and Tyreese, and the undoubtedly vengeful Allen, she wasn't certain if she was going to make it out of Woodbury alive, never mind saving anyone along the way.

When the last of the strawberry scented shampoo had been rinsed from her hair - Now almost to her waist and badly in need of a trim, she noticed - Beth turned off the shower and stepped out, mournfully wondering if she'd ever get another one like it. Showers at the prison were freezing cold and unpleasant. They simply didn't have the knowhow to change things.

Tyreese and Sasha were both waiting outside in the living room when she'd dressed in the fresh clothes that had been found for her. The jeans were a little long, but she tucked them into her cowboy boots - looking dapper now they were cleaned of their grimy coating - and at least the pink t-shirt fitted well. She'd hidden Daryl's knife behind a book on one of the shelves, retrieving it before she went through.

Beth stopped in front of them nervously, looking from brother to sister and back again.

"Sasha told me -" Tyreese began, closing his eyes for a moment as if pained. "The Governor really did all that?"

She nodded, desolation in her face. "I've lost count of all the people we've had to bury since this thing started," she whispered. "My daddy, my sister — they're all I've got left. Them and the rest of our group, and the Governor's been out to destroy us since he found out about the prison. I know Rick would move us on if he could, but with the baby -" Beth shook her head. "We barely survived the last winter...there's just no way."

Tyreese blew out a breath, glanced at Sasha. She shook her head meaningfully.

"Okay," he said, seemingly to ignore his sister. "How can we help?"

From the irritated look on Sasha's face, she wasn't pleased about his offer, but she didn't say anything.

"The others told me where he - he held my sister. It's the second building on the right from the gate…under there somewhere, there's a kind of basement, I guess."

"I know the building you mean," Tyreese agreed. "we'll go with you."

Beth shook her head quickly. "No," she protested. "If things go wrong…if I'm captured or killed, you can't be implicated."

"We're implicated anyway," Sasha pointed out, her tone resigned. "We didn't say you were from the prison when we saw you. Whether you succeed or not, we're implicated. We've got no choice in the matter."

"You really wanna stay here?" Tyreese demanded. "After all you know now?"

Sasha pursed her lips and didn't reply.

Beth felt exhausted. She guessed it was already around eleven, and she felt as stretched taut as piano wire with the stress of what she'd undertaken. "What about Allen?" she asked Tyreese tentatively, and was surprised to see him bite his lip, looking guilty.

"Best if he doesn't know about any of this," he rumbled, shifting his weight. "When we were at the prison…before Rick and the others came back…he suggested we should - you know -"

She blinked, feeling stupid. "No, I don't know."

"Kill you," Sasha blurted out. "He thought we should kill you all and take the prison for ourselves, since you were weak. He thought the story about the others was a lie to make us behave."

Beth sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like she'd taken a punch to the gut. Her lower lip trembled and she fought the urge to just curl up and cry. Was it always going to be like this? Were they going to spend the rest of their lives at the mercy of others, knowing at any moment someone may come along and try to kill them? The prison was horrible, dark and dingy and tomblike; it was mostly safe but at the price of living behind iron bars. They were starving and surrounded by the dead, and still there were people out there wanting to take from them what little they'd managed to scrape together. If that was all they had to look forward to, what was the point?

"Why didn't you?" she asked dully, twisting her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt.

"Allen doesn't speak for all of us," Tyreese said. "He's not…a good man. And his son was going the same way before he was killed. We're better off without him. That is, if you think Rick will let us come back."

They were both looking at her intently, and Beth realised she was being asked to make a decision. "He will," she she told them, resolving to do what she could to convince him. He wasn't unreasonable, and two extra bodies could only be to their advantage. "It's not a life like this one," Beth warned. "You've seen how things are for us. But if you want it, you're welcome to come back with us. Rick won't turn you away again."

"Alright," Tyreese agreed. "Sasha said you're making a move at midnight. We need to keep you out of sight until then. We may as well eat whilst we wait."

* * *

Beth picked at her sandwich, even though she marvelled at the existence of fresh bread in their post-apocalyptic world, her stomach too tied up in knots of anxiety to get much down. Sasha had gone out and returned with a pair of rucksacks containing their clothes and as much food and medicine as they could fit in, along with their weapons and ammunition. It was a good peace offering, Beth told herself, knowing every little would help when it came to Rick.

The minutes crawled by, and she couldn't stop herself from fidgeting, oscillating between the worry that they were going to be caught, to the possibility that they were too late and Merle was already dead. She didn't know what she'd do then. The thought that Daryl could have his brother back, that the whole world hadn't completely gone down in flames, was all that was keeping Beth afloat. She was exhausted and scared, and she just wanted to go back to the time when they weren't the dominant emotions in her repertoire. They all needed some hope.

Eventually, she unfolded herself from the hard wooden chair and turned the lights off. The flat was eerie with only what little light filtered in from the street outside, and the soft sound of three people breathing in tandem. Beth stood by the door, the knife she'd removed from her boot in one hand, the other resting lightly on the door handle waiting for her signal.

They didn't have long to wait. From the north end of the street, there came an almighty explosion, followed shortly after by the sounds of screaming. Beth hurled herself out of the door, glancing back only once to check that Tyreese and Sasha were behind her. People were milling around outside, running in all directions, panicked to insensibility as the guards on duty tried to keep order. Three figures creeping in the shadows were paid no mind, especially once a volley of smoke grenades came hissing over the barricade, plunging the street into disarray.

"This is it," Tyreese hissed, ushering the girls into the building Beth had described. She could hear the Governor's voice bellowing outside, so she figured they were safe to go snooping around, unless…

She rounded the corner and almost ran head first into a dark haired man, letting out a squeak of horror. The Governor had left a guard on duty; of course he had. No one ever said this job was going to be easy.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be in here!" he snarled, raising his gun to point it at her forehead. His eyes were black pits in his face that moved to the knife in her hand before they looked at the rest of her. The corner of a bandage peeked out from the sleeve of his t-shirt. There was every possibility that he'd gotten his vengeance on Merle for that, for it was undoubtedly a piece of his legacy from that afternoon.

Beth gasped, almost falling backwards as cold fear spilled into her chest and constricted her breathing. Thinking he was going to shoot her, she managed just one rasping breath, before bursting into tears.

"Whoa, whoa, what the hell, kid?" the man said after a moment, lowering his weapon a fraction. "Hey, shh, I'm not going to hurt you," he protested, sounding almost sorry. "You can't be down here is all."

"I'm sorry!" Beth wailed. "There's something happening outside, I just ran into the first building I saw! There's walkers everywhere, it's not safe out there, please don't kill me -" If there were still awards ceremonies, she was pretty sure she'd be in for a shot at an Oscar. She hoped Tyreese and Sasha were ready around the corner; they'd been smart enough to stay out of sight, but they wouldn't be able to go back out without making a noise and alerting the guard to their presence.

Around the corner, there came the sound of shuffling steps, and an eerie groan. Beth's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and she let out a whimper. The guard frowned, bringing up his pistol once more, and shunting her behind him, within touching distance of the corrugated iron door behind which she knew they were holding Merle. With cold clarity Beth didn't even know she possessed, she silently picked up the chair he'd been lounging in and turned around. She couldn't risk the guard shooting Tyreese and Sasha; they were the ones providing a distraction, she was sure of it. And if the Governor heard a gun shot he'd be back in here before she could blink.

Steeling herself, Beth brought the chair down on the back of the guard's head with every ounce of strength she possessed, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

"Tyreese?" she whispered, watching the guard's gun go skittering across the concrete. If she'd been wrong about the source of the noise, she was now without a weapon except for Daryl's knife, and there was a walker waiting for her.

Fortunately, two familiar faces popped around the corner, both of them wearing expressions of surprise. "That's Martinez," Tyreese told her. "Tough sonofabitch; I can't believe you took him down with a chair."

"Neither can I," Beth admitted, swooping down to grab the pistol, before turning her attention to the torture chamber, carefully unlocking the door and throwing it open.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author Note: MmmmmMerle. Also, can anybody explain to me why this bayonet-touting, one-handed, racist, redneck asshole is so specifically popular in the Spanish speaking fangirl community? Is this some fad I'm unaware of?_

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Merle Dixon was covered in blood. It seeped in rust-coloured stains on his jeans and glued the rips in his dirty wifebeater; it trickled from his split lip and from a cut above his hairline. He was swimming in an ocean of blood, and Beth hoped all of it wasn't his. They'd never get him out of there if it was.

"Merle!" she squeaked, dashing over to him. "Oh no…Merle? Can you hear me?" His face was pale in the dingy half-light of the odd room. The only illumination came from grimy bulb that hung forlornly above him, leaving the corners in deep, ominous shadow. Beth fluttered around him anxiously, afraid to lay so much as a finger on him in case she hurt him.

"I kin hear ya, lil' girl," he rasped, his slate blue eyes shuttering open to look up at her as she hovered above him helplessly. "Tha hell ya doin' here?"

Beth gave him a teary, grateful smile. "We're breaking you out, of course. Tyreese, does the guard have keys on him for these handcuffs?"

"Governor's got 'em," Merle said slowly, sitting up. She saw the barest twitch of pain cross his face before he got himself under control. His one good hand was cuffed to the chair, whilst the raw, angry stump where his right hand used to be had been taped to the arm rest.

"Here -" Sasha waved a pair of pliers at her before tossing them over. "Use these. We gotta move." Beth tried not to think about why the pliers were there, in a metal tray of other assorted instruments of a medical and mechanical nature. She tried not to think about whether any of them had been used on Merle already, and how many others would have been used on him if she'd agreed with Glenn that they should let him rot at the Governor's mercy.

Tyreese was outside keeping watch over the guard and the corridor, so it was up to Beth to free Merle. She clamped the pliers around the chain and pushed them together as hard as she could, feeling her bewildered muscles straining with the effort. After a moment, she heard Merle let out a chuckle. "Give it ta me."

"But -"

"Give it ta me," he growled, clearly out of patience. "I ain't got time ta argue wit ya. C'mon, quickly now."

Beth carefully manoeuvred the tool into his hand, wondering how he was going to manage such an awkward angle, and was impressed to see his knuckles bulge as he exerted pressure on the unyielding metal, until there was a snap and the handcuffs parted. She was close enough to feel the hot exhale of his breath against her arm, and when she looked at him, she noticed his expression soften, just for a moment, into relief. Somehow, she suspected that Governor knew about Merle's issues when it came to being chained up like that, and this had to have been the icing on his little torture cake.

Retrieving Daryl's knife, she handed it to him, stepping back as Merle swiftly cut himself loose and struggled out of the chair. Beth noticed he favoured his right leg - not so much that she thought there was permanent damage, but enough that she knew he was suffering more than he'd let on. "Weeeeell looky here," he drawled, laser beam gaze moving from Beth to Sasha and finally to Tyreese standing over the prone guard. "We got ourselves a rescue party, Blondie. Ain't that nice?"

For a split second, Beth assumed he was talking to her, but then, from the shadows, Andrea's exhausted voice issued forth. "Shut the hell up, Merle," she sighed. "And get us out of these cuffs, whoever you are."

"S'tha farmer's daughter," Merle told her, moving into the darkness behind the dentist's chair he'd been chained to. "In tha flesh."

"Maggie?"

"Beth," she corrected, fidgeting anxiously as she heard Merle grunt, and the telltale scrape of metal on metal.

"Beth?" Andrea repeated, stumbling into the small pool of light and blinking furiously. Her hair was matted with dirt and dried blood, but she looked otherwise unharmed. "Oh my God…Beth, what - what's going on?"

"Daryl and the others are outside. We have to get out of the compound; their distraction isn't going to last long," Beth said hurriedly, throwing her arms around Andrea and hugging her tight. Rick had been pretty terse with her the last time she visited the prison, but Beth still cared about Andrea, and thought she understood why she'd chosen Woodbury over them at first. The Governor was good at picking up people who'd been abandoned and putting them back together for his own uses. "Sasha told me you tried to warn us -"

"We ain't goin' nowhere til tha Governor's dead," Merle snarled, limping towards them and supporting the weight of another man Beth had never seen before. He was unrecognisable anyway, his face turned to hamburger meat by a beating ten times more vicious that the one Glenn had received from Merle. "Here - make yerself useful," he said, shoving the body at Sasha and holding out his hand to Beth, making an impatient motion towards the gun tucked into her waistband.

"Merle, no," she said hurriedly, handing the pistol over. "We have to go - none of you is in the condition to fight, we've barely got any weapons, and we'll put everyone in danger if we do this now." Beth turned a pleading gaze on the elder Dixon. She should've known this was going to happen; the stubborn idiot had gone in alone the first time around, and it made sense he wouldn't want to leave without getting it done. If they killed the Governor now, it would solve all of their problems - but not how to get out alive. Beth wasn't willing to lose one more person. "Please," she whispered, drawing in so close to him she could smell the copper of his blood, a hint of whiskey, and the sharp tang of cordite. "We need you with us. Daryl -" she could hear his breathing hitch slightly, saw that he was listening. "He was a mess when he saw what had happened. Please, don't do this, just come home. We can deal with the Governor together. We've got a plan…"

His eyes narrowed, and she thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. Sensing he was beginning to cave, Beth mustered her courage and raised up on her tiptoes to put her arms around him, pressing a feather light kiss to his rough, scratchy cheek. "I'm glad you're okay," she said softly, trying not to be offended by the way he tensed, and how much it felt like hugging a brick wall. "Will you please come home with us?"

"Din't know ya cared, darlin'," he ground out, and Beth was surprised to find that she did. Merle wasn't just some stranger they could forget about like he didn't matter; she wondered if anyone but Daryl had ever told him that before. Her small hands smoothed to his shoulders, feeling the skin stretch taught over his muscles, and nodded, cringing a little at her own clumsy attempt to make him understand. Nudging her away with unexpected gentleness, Merle drew himself up and headed for the door, glancing just once at her inexplicably flushed cheeks and away again, a small smirk curling the corner of his cruel mouth. "Let's get outta here."

* * *

Although she might've seen a more docile side of Merle Dixon in the cell, Beth was reminded that this man was first and foremost a survivor once they got out of it. Bending down, he grabbed Martinez by the back of his shirt and lifted him like an errant puppy.

"Shouldn't he have woken up by now?" Beth whispered, glancing from the guard to Merle, worry etched on her face.

"He's dead," Merle said flatly. "Yer man hit 'im with some force. Gonna leave 'im in here fer the Governor ta find. Mebbe he'll do our job fer us." Tossing the body back into the cell, Merle shut and locked the door up, apparently oblivious to Beth covering her mouth, tears prickling her eyes. "C'mon girlie, yer up front wit' me. What's tha matter wit' ya?"

She sniffled and shook her head. Tyreese and Sasha were looking her pityingly; at least they seemed to know she'd not killed the guard intentionally. Nevertheless, there wasn't time to do this now - they had to get everyone out of Woodbury before Daryl and the others decided to come in after them.

With the mystery man - revealed to be Milton, the Governor's pet scientist - supported by Tyreese and Sasha, and Andrea bringing up the rear, they slipped out into the town. She'd been so focused on finding Merle in the first place that she hadn't realised that the noises outside had escalated to gunshots and shouts. Thick smog still hung in the air which was fortunate for them, and Merle knew the place well enough to lead they around the back way to the breach he'd used to escape before whilst mostly blinded.

It wasn't elegant or neat, but all six of them made it through the tear in the corrugated wall, and Tyreese was careful to bend it back into place afterwards. Beth understood his thinking: there were women and children in Woodbury, not just guards.

"Beth?" A voice hissed out the darkness at the edge of the forest, and her pounding heart almost smashed straight out of her chest.

"We're here," she gasped, touching Merle's shoulder to indicate that all was fine. By intention or instinct, he'd shifted his body in front of her, brandishing the pistol towards the sound of the voice calling her name. "It wasn't just Merle -"

Michonne appeared from behind a tree, her sword in her hands and her face expressionless.

"My Nubian Queen," Merle rasped, sounding amused. "Ya came back. I'm honoured."

"Figured I owed you one," she told him in that odd, calm way of hers. The facade cracked slightly as she turned her attention to the rest of the group, including Andrea who was slumped dejectedly against a treetrunk, but she collected herself quickly. "We need to get to the cars. Daryl rigged up a couple of noisemakers around the compound but it won't fool the Governor for long."

The way back was a minefield of walkers attracted by the explosions and gunshots, and later Beth would wonder how in the name of God they all made it out of there. It felt like hours of stumbling through the trees, disorientated by darkness and the groans that echoed all around them. She stayed on Merle's heels, their breaths coming in pants as they pushed on through, all singleminded in their determination to get as far away from the Governor and his men as they could. Beth was too numb to even feel scared after a while; the swish of Michonne's katana through the air, the loud and clumsy footsteps of city folk still not adjusted to moving silently through the forest, the steady thump-thump of her pulse in her throat - it was all she knew for an infinity of time.

Everyone was breathing heavily by the time they reached the road, and most of them were covered in splashes of walker blood. Tyreese was carrying Milton draped over one enormous shoulder, whilst Sasha held up a winded Andrea, both of them all the more impressive for the packs they'd held onto throughout the journey. Beth nearly crumpled with relief as the men ran to meet them; Rick catching her up in a tight bearhug. Over his shoulder, she could see Daryl clasp his brother's hand, and she smiled softly, thankful for that moment.

"You did good, Beth," Rick murmured, setting her back on her feet and glancing at everyone else she'd brought along, one hand resting lightly on his gun. She could see Andrea stiffen, and Sasha pursed her lips as if she was about to speak.

"They're with us," Beth said quickly, wrapping her hands around his arm. "Tyreese and Sasha helped me get them out. The Governor was holding Andrea with Merle - she was coming to warn us about the attack."

"We ain't got time fer this," Daryl groused, and turning around, Beth noticed he was herding Merle towards one of the cars. "Talkin' we kin do back at tha prison. Let's go."

* * *

"So tell me agin why y'all sent a lil' girl to come git us?" Merle teased his brother as Daryl sped on behind Rick and Michonne's car. She sat between Tyreese and Sasha in the back, all of them silently listening to the Dixon brothers converse.

"It were Michonne's idea. Said we needed to send someone in, 'stead of gettin' inna firefight wit' tha Governor. Beth volunteered." His voice lowered at the end of it to almost a mumble, and she got the feeling he was remembering their conversation at the prison. It couldn't have been easy, she thought, to love someone who made it so difficult; someone so uncompromising that even at the end of the world, he remained set in his ways.

There was rustle as Merle turned around to look at her, and Beth found herself gazing to his hard eyes glittering in the faint light of the moon. "Tha' right?" she nodded slowly, giving him a tremulous smile. She hoped he wasn't going to ask why; she really didn't feel like going into it all over again - and truth be told, he unnerved her more than his brother did, and she was still a little surprised he hadn't stabbed her in the throat when she hugged him. Beth's well of courage was running dry after that little stunt, not to mention everything she'd been through since. Fortunately though, he merely gave her a long, assessing look that made her feel like he could see inside her, before turning around and settling back into his seat without another word. Maybe if Beth had been a different sort of person, she would've been annoyed by his apparent lack of gratitude, but she thought she understood. Merle wasn't good at being on the receiving end of anything positive. Carol let things slip sometimes, about Daryl and by extension his brother, and Beth felt like she had enough to piece together a reasonable picture of a man who didn't accept kindness easily.

Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when they reached the prison. It was only once the gates were shut behind them that the full enormity of what she'd done in the past few hours hit Beth with the force of a steam train.

She'd lied to the face of the Governor, the very man bound and determined to kill everyone she cared about just for living in the wrong place. She'd negotiated a truce with two people Rick had kicked out of the prison in the first place, who would have been well within their rights to turn her in. She'd sprung Merle, Andrea and Milton from the Governor's torture chamber. And she'd killed a man just for being in the wrong place.

Everyone had gotten out of the car already, but Beth remained frozen in place, her thoughts quickly edging her towards complete hysteria. With the adrenaline draining away, there was nothing to protect her from the truth of everything she was responsible for since Daryl had returned from the grain depot that afternoon. Beth drew her knees up into her chest, wrapping her arms around herself as unstoppable trembling wracked her body and she fought down nausea. Every moment of the horrible last year, she'd been behind someone: her father, Rick, Maggie, Daryl - even Carl was considered more of a fighter than she was. As the number of them dropped, Beth felt herself getting closer to the point where she'd have to pick up a gun and defend herself, but then Hershel lost his leg and Judith came along, and suddenly it seemed like her part was set in stone; care for the baby, and stay out of the way. This wasn't her place, her fear whispered, she had no business going out into the world like that.

"Ya comin' in, girlie?" a gruff voice asked, and she was vaguely aware of Merle leaning in the door, but though her mouth opened to respond, the only thing that issued forth was an anguished whimper. A number of people had comforted her already tonight - Tyreese, the Governor, Martinez - but for all their talking, none of them had given her the slightest bit of peace. Merle was wise enough not to even try it; he just reached in and grabbed her, dragging her across the seat until he could lift her out. "There ya are," he murmured, pulling her into his chest and rising to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. "Jes put y'arm around my neck…thas right…"

Beth obeyed him without thought, wrapping her arm loosely up around his neck, feeling the tendons there cord as he adjusted her weight and kicked the car door closed. She rested her forehead against the sharp angle of his jaw, her eyelids fluttering with the barest of awareness. She could hear voices around her, their tones of concern, but she couldn't make out what they were saying.

"She's alright," Merle answered, the words a deep rumble in his chest that she felt all the way through her bones. "She's jes in shock. It ain't been an easy night fer tha girl."

Beth kept her eyes shut tight as they entered the prison, trying to stop the world from tilting crazily around her, and buried her face in Merle's throat. If she'd thought too hard about it, perhaps she would've been embarrassed - or even a little afraid of him - but she was beyond caring. A chill had set in beneath her skin, and she burrowed into Merle's chest, feeling like she'd never be warm again. He was solid beneath her fingers, a cage of taut muscle that closed around her and shut out the world.

She could feel him descending the stairs into the common area, his footsteps hushed on the concrete, the steady thrum of his pulse in her ear.

Beth breathed him in deep and let darkness overwhelm her senses, falling limp in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author Note: It's a little Meth. I know it's kind of radical writing a pairing story with barely a hint of the pairing in question, but that's just how I roll. Thanks to those of you who've reviewed and stuck with me so far - I promise your patience will be rewarded!_

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

At the furthest reaches of her hearing, she could make out the muffled _click click_ of metal and plastic that they'd all learned to associate with her father since his encounter with a walker in the tombs. The sound was coming closer, echoing strangely in the prison among the other footsteps and quiet murmurs of the people who lived there. Then a familiar voice said: "Beth? Sweetheart?"

"Daddy," she whispered, opening her eyes slowly, blinking in the gloomy grey of dawn filtering through the small prison windows. Her father's kindly face swam in her vision, blurring at the edges. He managed a smile, but she could see the tension in his expression, and Beth struggled to sit up, finding herself tucked beneath a blanket in her own cell. She wasn't sure when she'd started thinking of it as _hers_; there was very little of her in there at all, just a small plastic tub of worn out clothes, a hair brush, and a tattered old bible swollen in its leather cover by dog-eared corners and highlighted passages where she'd sought desperately for a scrap of comfort in the ancient words.

"You gave us quite the fright, pumpkin," her father told her gently, reaching out to stroke her blonde hair. "How are you feeling?"

How _was_ she feeling? Beth wondered. Her head was fuzzy and her mouth was dry, and the world had taken on an odd, muted quality after the screams and smoke of the night before. She swallowed, remembering what had happened. Memories returned in odd snatches of sound and vision. She remembered standing over Martinez's body as Merle lifted him up and pronounced him dead. There hadn't even been any blood; she'd thought he was just lit out.

Looking up at her father, Beth's lips began to tremble. Not only had she done such a terrible thing, but she'd worried her family too, she could read it carved into the lines of her father's face. After her episode at their farm, he and Maggie had been very protective of her, and she'd completely disregarded their feelings when she volunteered to go with Daryl. She'd been angry, so angry, that her daddy who was always so strong and so moral, had stood down and let Rick career off course the way he had. Now she wondered if that tiny moment in the basement beneath Woodbury was how Rick felt every day that they put their lives in his hands.

Her breath hitched, tears gathering in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Daddy," she sobbed, clinging to him as her father gathered her up in a hug.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he murmured soothingly. "The big feller and his sister told us what you did…I'm so proud of you - we all are."

"But I killed a guard," she whispered, sniffling into his shirtfront as her father rubbed her back. "He was kind to me, and I killed him."

Her father let out a sigh, pulling back to hold her at arm's length and meet her watery eyes. "And if you hadn't stopped him, what do you think would have happened?"

"He would've shot Tyreese and Sasha, but -" Beth's gaze dipped down and back up. "It still doesn't feel right. I didn't mean to…I was just trying to knock him out; I - I hit him too hard. It was an accident…"

He brushed a few stray tears from her cheek. "My sweet girl," he looked old then, so much older than she realised. "I failed you -"

"Daddy -"

"I did. I taught your sister how to defend herself, let her go out into the world and learn how to be strong, but I never did the same for you. When Maggie was taken, my first thought…my first thought was, at least it wasn't you. At least she stood more of a chance than you would." Hershel shook his head. "And when you left with Rick and the others, I was prepared for the possibility that you might not come back."

"I don't understand," Beth admitted. "You could have forbidden me to go."

"You were standing up for something you believed in, and you were right. I knew Rick was making the wrong decision about Michonne, and I let him bring Merle in anyway. You should never have had to fix our mistakes, Beth, that's not the way it works."

It was a strange experience for Beth, having her father admit he'd done wrong. He was a man of God, the best man she knew, and it was the first time she'd seen him step down from the pedestal she'd kept him on her whole life. Leaning forward, she nuzzled him and kissed his whiskery cheek. "You were just trying to protect us," she told him fondly. "And we might still have to run, but at least we're all together again. How are they? Merle, and Andrea, and Milton? Are they okay?"

"Milton was worked over but good; he's not going to be capable of much for a while. The others are fine though, and Maggie's waiting for you downstairs if you feel up to breakfast. Glenn proposed to her last night."

With those words, a tired grin stretched across Beth's face. The Governor may have terrorised them, tortured them, and killed two of their people, but he hadn't won. Whilst they still cared about one another, whilst they still had something to fight for, they'd survive.

* * *

"Beth!"

All she saw was a blur of dark hair, before she was crushed into hug by her sister. Beth laid her head on Maggie's shoulder and looked up at her. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Maggie whispered, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. "I was so worried…"

"I'm fine. We're all fine." Well, almost everybody. Beth glanced around at the sound of footsteps behind her, and saw Glenn standing there, looking nervous. She understood now, why he'd done what he'd done where Merle was concerned. Even if he was wrong to her, he was right for Maggie, and he loved her, that much was clear.

"Beth -"

"I know," she smiled, stretching a hand out to snag his sleeve and reel him in. "Come here."

They shared a long embrace until Rick came down and called for attention. As far as she could tell, she'd been asleep for less than five hours; the sun was barely risen and they needed to start putting the plan into action. Andrea and Milton had filled in the blanks as best they could, though the only thing they knew for sure was that the Governor would retaliate - today.

Beth slid into a seat and accepted a bowl of oatmeal from a distracted Carol who only had time to ruffle her hair before scuttling off to tend to Judith. Everyone was tense, but they seemed to snap with energy rather than slump beneath the hopelessness of their situation the way they had before. As she raised her spoon, Merle dropped into the chair opposite. He was cleaned up and dressed all in black, and though he still looked haggard, there was an alert gleam in his eyes.

"Mornin' girlie," he rasped, offering her a smirk. The new scars he'd picked up courtesy of the Governor only enhanced his air of rugged menace. "Yer lookin' better."

"So're you," Beth smiled, noting that he was wearing the metal cover on his right arm once again. The first time she'd seen it with a great hunting blade taped to the end she'd been pretty horrified. Now, knowing what lay beneath that, and how it happened, she admired his strength. It couldn't have been easy surviving in their world that way. He could do more with one hand than most people could do with two. "Sorry I went a bit…y'know. Last night." She waved her fingers illustratively, flushing as he trained the full intensity of his blue-grey gaze on her.

"Ain't yer fault," he shrugged, taking a long draught of coffee, apparently oblivious to the way her eyes lingered on the thick column of his throat as he swallowed. "I have that effect on women."

It took her a minute, but Beth eventually processed what he said, and her lips parted in shock. "You -" she stuttered, staring at him. "What -" A glorious laugh rumbled in his chest as she lit up red, realising that gruff, tough and unapproachable Merle Dixon - kamikaze walker exterminator and possible cold blooded murderer - had just made her the butt of his terrible joke. "I can't believe you just said that."

"I ain't hearin' ya dispute it," Merle pointed out cockily. "An' yer face is redder 'n tha side of a barn; tells me all I need ter know."

"Oh my God," she muttered. "Merle. Stop." Beth tried to hide behind her hair, and then froze when he unexpectedly reached out, calloused fingertips brushing her temple, and pushed the long curtain of gold back behind her ear. She began to notice how empty the common area was at that moment with everyone else off running their chores, leaving her alone. With Merle. Merle, who was looking at her like maybe she'd make a good chew toy right about then.

The spoon slipped out of her nerveless fingers and clunked loudly into her untouched oatmeal, and she was grateful that the sound of it seemed to startle the older man as much as her. Beth had been flirted with plenty of times, but there were usually more sweet words involved, and maybe a bit of soulful gazing; she wasn't even sure _what_ was going on here.

He slowly withdrew his hand to rub the sharp angle of his jaw instead, and Beth's wide gaze followed it there, struck by an odd thought. She now knew what his touch felt like on her skin. She knew how his stubbled cheek felt against her lips. And perhaps most disturbingly, she discovered her body had filed away those sensations for future reference the way she used to keep a journal tucked beneath her mattress. That wasn't right, was it? Those things weren't supposed to mean anything. Beth was a tactile person; touching people was how she communicated. Granted, she generally reserved that kind of communication for people she knew a bit better than scary bayonet-wielding rednecks.

Merle leaned forward, folding his arms on the tabletop and interrupting her silent freakout - which was probably for the best, all things considered. She wanted to say something, _anything_, just to break the awkward silence, but her mind was drawing a total blank. Fortunately, or perhaps not, given their newly intimate relationship, he didn't seem at a loss for a conversation starter. "Ya volunteered ta come fer us," he said slowly. "Why?"

Damn, he didn't mess around. Beth looked down at her breakfast. She had a feeling that what she said next would be important somehow. Apart from anything else, she'd watched Carol struggle with the younger Dixon for the last year, and Merle was even more damaged. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate him any further. "Technically, it was just you," she said hesitantly. "We didn't know about Andrea or Milton…" Beth looked up at him from beneath her lashes, a single bead of fear sliding down her spine. She wished he'd just blink or something; the closed off granite of his expression made her feel like she'd done something wrong. Licking her dry lips, Beth fiddled with hem of her t-shirt but was careful to hold his gaze. "Merle…I meant what I said before. This is your home. You're one of us now, and we won't leave you behind again."

Perhaps it was fanciful on her part, but Merle seemed surprised by her answer. For a moment, she thought she saw doubt cross his face, but it was gone before Beth could be sure. He appeared to be measuring his words before he spoke again, that strong square chin jutting out as if they came at great cost. "An' yer sister? Tha Kuhrean kid? How'd they feel about this notion o' yers?"

"Glenn and Maggie aren't your biggest fans," Beth admitted, earning herself a snort of amusement from her companion. "But there are none of us innocent in this. You did what you felt like you had to, and even though they may not like it, that's just how things are now." Her voice trailed off into silence, remembering her action the night before, feeling that urgent impulse to stop Martinez before he hurt the people that helped her. Was that how Merle felt when he killed for the Governor? When he took Michonne? Had he put human compassion aside and instead used the small, vicious animal part of his mind that demanded survival no matter what the cost? She wanted more than anything to ask him how he felt afterwards, how he lived with blood on his hands, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. What if the bone-deep regret was a permanent part of her now, like the grief she carried for those who'd died? How could she bear to stand beneath the weight of it?

Beth didn't know how long she'd gone mentally wandering for, but when she felt a large, workroughed hand settle over her own, she blinked back into the present. "Ain't nobody thinks worse of ya fer what ya done," Merle said gruffly. "Tha man killed more people than I kin count. He was one of 'em that enjoyed it." The calloused pad of his thumb rubbed across the tops of her knuckles, warm and electric, and Beth felt like she didn't deserve the pleasure of his comfort. She didn't know how he'd done it, just looked at her and seen where her thoughts had gone.

"I do," she whispered. "I think worse of me, even though I had to do it. I know he was bad. I know I should feel nothing, but I - I feel _everything_ and I don't know how…I don't know how to make it stop."

"Hold on ta it," Merle rumbled, shaking his head and gripping her hand a little tighter than was comfortable as if to reinforce the lesson. "The moment ya feel nothin', yer already on tha road ta bein' like 'em."

Beth noticed he didn't say _us_. At the moment, it felt like she held onto the memory like a bright, sharp shard of glass. It cut through her skin and made her bleed, and she couldn't think past the pain of it. "Doesn't seem right, all the good people we lost to the walkers, and men like the Governor thriving out there," she murmured, looking down at their intertwined hands. She hadn't meant to burden him with it, not after what he'd been through, but he was the only one who'd been willing to sacrifice himself to pay penance for the things he'd done.

That, however, seemed to be the limit of Merle's patience for picking over the past. He withdrew his hand and made a disdainful noise. "He wouldn't still _be_ around if ya'd let me take 'im out last night," he grumbled, and she thought that was a fair point, though they both knew she couldn't have stopped him if he'd really been bound and determined to do it.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'll regret that," Beth shrugged, feeling a little relieved that they were cautiously stepping away from subject and the possibility she might have a secondary breakdown in front of him. "But you already risked your life once, and I didn't want anyone else to die. Besides, Daryl would never have forgiven me if I'd just let you go."

"So yer back to runnin'."

"Maybe. If this plan doesn't work out, sure. We'll manage," she said stubbornly. "We survived losing the farm, and we'll survive this too. You have to have faith, Merle."

"Sounds like ya got enough fer all of us, sugar." Merle stood up with the brief scrape of his chair across the concrete signalling the end of their conversation and the introduction of a new pet name into his seemingly endless repertoire. Beth wondered how long she'd have to know him to rise to the point where he'd actually bother learning her real one. It was funny - a little funny and a little sad too - that she'd never really seen him before all this. He was just the Governor's dog, Daryl's elusive brother, the vicious and erratic troublemaker who hurt Maggie and Glenn and divided the group. He was a man who'd killed people and still maintained enough of his humanity to counsel someone who'd done the same. She gave him a shy smile before he turned and walked away.

Some days, faith was all she felt like she had after the world was done with her, but today wasn't one of them.

* * *

Cramming her meagre belongings into the trunk, Beth reached out and took Judith's warm, squirming little body into her arms. Carol had already pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, and now she did the same to her. "Be careful out there."

"An' look after lil' Asskicker." Daryl added, coming up behind her and squeezing her shoulder lightly. Looking up into his face, Beth was gifted with a rare smile. He and Merle had the same eyes, she noticed, but his were softer, less guarded. The time he'd spent with them learning how to be a family had changed him. She just hoped that his brother would have the same chance, refusing to believe that there was no way back for him. That morning had shown her a different side of him, one that wasn't on display for just anybody to see, and she suspected that was the Merle his brother had known and missed.

"Come back safe," she whispered, hugging the little girl close against the stiff morning breeze. "All of you." Her gaze sought out the lonely figure of Merle in the distance, a limp in his step as he made one last check of the perimeter. He'd be staying behind with everyone who was fit to fight, though Beth knew her father hadn't exactly cleared him for the duty. After his carry on with Glenn the day of the meeting, no one was willing to part him from his brother under such circumstances. An angry Merle was a deadly loose cannon; they couldn't afford even a single mistake today.

As the last of their stuff was loaded into the car, Rick and Michonne stepped out into the courtyard together. Beth watched them discreetly, noting the air of peace that surrounded them. The older woman was truly remarkable, she thought. Not many people could take such a betrayal with the grace she had, and still be set on fighting for them.

"It's time to go," Rick said heavily, his tired eyes moving from her, to Carl, and finally to Hershel. A heavily-medicated Milton was propped up in the backseat of the car, and Andrea had volunteered to go as a second gun to Carl's. She'd been subdued since they returned from Woodbury. "Stay under cover, no matter what you hear. If no one comes for you before noon, head to the fallback position. Stick to the plan." Pulling himself straight and squaring his shoulders, Beth saw a glint of the former Sheriff beneath the weight of his cares. It was a long road back from Lori's death, but if they made through this, he'd be one step closer to recovery. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but all they got was a sharp nod, before he turned on his heel and started issuing orders to those staying behind.

Beth slipped into the back, trying not to jostle the scientist as she adjusted Judith in her lap. She couldn't take any more goodbyes; it felt like she'd cried an ocean of tears in the last few days, and she didn't have anything left to give. Nevertheless, as the Dixon brothers pulled open the gate to let them out, she met Merle's eyes for a brief moment of time. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wolfish grin, and he raised his bayonet in farewell.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author Note: Kind of a long one this time, folks. I just want to let you all know that even though I don't have the time to respond to everyone individually, I really appreciate the reviews, alerts and favourites. You inspire me to shirk my job for fanfic...can't say fairer than that! Continuing in the super erratic update timing vein, chapter six should be up within the next 24 hours, barring any hilarious mishaps._

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

She'd been afraid before. The herd attack on her family's farm had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her young life. The few deeply-buried moments when her mother's walker body had grabbed hold of her outside the barn and tried to take a chunk out of her face. Meeting the Governor the night before ranked pretty highly too. Every time her sister - or really any one of her new family - left the relative safety of their stronghold to forage, Beth found herself teetering on the edge of anxiety. She wondered if she'd ever become immune to the stress they lived with every day, or whether the rest of her life, however short it might be, would be spent vacillating between black despair and all too brief respites of joy.

With the admittance of her fear came acknowledgement of her helplessness. From their vantage point in the woods outside the prison, she could hear the explosions and gunfire as people she loved faced down the Governor's army whilst Beth, safe and warm in the car, held a bottle of water to Milton's swollen lips. At first, she'd been a bit ambivalent about the scientist since she had other things to think about, but on the way Carl had asked what he'd done to the Governor to invite his punishment - and Andrea had filled them in. Beth was surprised. Most of the prison assumed she was trusting to a fault, but after all they'd been through, giving people the benefit of the doubt seemed like more of a death wish than the mark of a good person.

Later, Beth would question if that line of thinking was the catalyst for Carl's split-second transformation from the young boy she'd befriended - in spite of his obvious and burgeoning crush on her - to the unrepentant killer he'd unwittingly become. She'd taken care of their patient, meditating on the sheer nerve he must possess to have set alight the pits of walkers destined for the prison, and swung herself out of the car to stretch her legs. Judith was sleeping deeply, having been kept awake by Carol for most of the night as part of the ploy to minimise her risk to the group.

Crouching down among the the foliage, Beth clutched tightly at her father and fought down the urge to throw up.

"I should be there," Carl muttered, and she wondered if that was how they all felt. Her father had been casting frustrated glances at his crutches since they left the prison. Andrea was gripping onto her rifle with an attitude that suggested she'd love nothing more than a walker to stumble into their encampment, just to give her an outlet.

Beth didn't think it was so far-fetched. The commotion below, the Governor's men taking out their guard towers with rocket launchers first, and now the triggered alarm and automatic fire, the screams, it was sure to draw walkers in from miles around. Who knew how far sound could travel in their newly silent world? They could have a herd on their doorstep within a few days, and there was nothing they could do about it.

In the end though, it wasn't a walker that found them, but a teenaged boy. He was grubby and scared, and looked to be a little younger than her, if she was any judge. Beth's father shunted her behind him, both of them sheltering in the shadow of the car whilst Carl met him head on with his funny little silenced pistol, and Andrea kept him in her sights from across the clearing.

It was as if she could see the wheels turning in Carl's head. His father had all of his working life to hone the kind of skills needed to make swift decisions with the potential for death, and he still made mistakes. He still _cared_ to make it a decision and not a foregone conclusion. Beth didn't need to look at the cold, blanked off expression in his eyes to know that Carl had already sentenced the boy to die. There was the sudden, sharp exhale of the silencer, and a thud as the nameless soldier dropped to the forest floor.

No one seemed to know what to say. Andrea opened her mouth once, shut it again, twice, and again. Finally, she looked at Hershel for some clue as to how to proceed, and Beth could see the conflict in her father's eyes. Beth wasn't sure how to feel when she attempted to approach Carl, only to have her father hold her back. "Be careful, sweetheart," he murmured, too quietly for the others to hear. "The boy's not right in his own head at the moment. It ain't his fault, but he's a danger to everyone until it passes."

"He's not dangerous to us -" Beth hissed back, though she wasn't rock solidly set on that opinion. Carl might've been getting progressively more confident about defending the group, but she didn't think shooting a boy not much older than himself whilst he was surrendering necessarily fell under the definition of defence. "No more than I am." For that was it at the core; Beth worried that what she'd done and what Carl had done weren't worlds apart, and if he felt anything, _anything_ close to what she did…he needed someone, the way he had done the day Lori died. Daryl had been the one to ask her to play that part back then, but she didn't need a cue now.

Skirting around the car, Beth approached Carl where he was raiding the corpse for ammunition. "Hey -" she announced softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder and halt those disturbingly brusque movements. "Are you okay?"

Carl sat back on his heels and squinted up at her from beneath the hat he wore. She wasn't even really sure when he'd adopted that look, just that it should've seemed ridiculous, but not being able to see his eyes made him menacing instead. "Of course," he said flatly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world not to know an ounce of remorse. "One less soldier for the Governor can only be a good thing, right?"

"He didn't look much like a soldier," Beth muttered, glancing at the boy, his face slack and peaceful and covered in his own blood. "Looks like the Governor just rounded up every able-bodied person in town, armed them, and got them to fight for their lives. No wonder he was running away."

She was forced to back up a step as Carl rose to his feet and regarded her coldly. "At least I'm pulling my weight around here. You go on one run and think that gives you the right to judge? It _doesn't_." Beth was stunned at the venom spilling from his mouth. He'd always been a little intense, but this was something else. "You were inside Woodbury, and you did nothing. You could've put it to the torch and ended things then and there, but you didn't - so you don't get to judge me for handling things my way."

Shouldering the boy's weapon, he brushed past her without a second glance, an echoing silence in his wake.

* * *

It was a relief to get back to the prison, and not just because she got to see the others were all safe. The plan, developed by Rick and Daryl with the help of Merle's experience being incarcerated - not something that came as a surprise to anyone - had gone off perfectly. Sure, their guard towers were severely damaged - something which would bother Maggie and Glenn far more than the rest of them - and there were breaches all over the place that would take days to secure, but no one had died. Beth didn't think she could take another moment of being cooped up in the same space as a fuming Carl; his whole attitude had made her sick to her very core.

"What happens now?" she asked her sister, helping Maggie out of her riot gear as Glenn passed around bottles of water to the sweating defenders.

"Rick and some of the others are going after the Governor to finish things off. The rest of us are staying here and putting the house in order." Maggie didn't sound impressed by the turn of events, but at least she wasn't among those slated to carry the fight to Woodbury. Beth would take what she could get.

"Who's going with Rick?" Beth tried to ask nonchalantly - moreso than she felt.

If she came across nervous, Maggie didn't seem to notice, pushing her damp hair out of her face and sharing a smile with her fiance over her sister's head. "Daryl, Michonne and Merle." The last was said with a slight growl, and the younger Greene tried not to wince.

"At least he's on our side now," she offered lamely, gaze travelling unbidden to the man in question. He looked completely at ease, lounging against the wall with his thick, muscular arms crossed over his chest, apparently listening to Rick's game plan. "We need all the help we can get." Beth swallowed as Merle seemed to sense the weight of her stare and suddenly looked right at her. Instead of doing something normal like smiling, or even giving him a little wave - no matter that Maggie would throw a fit - she thought about their odd encounter that morning, and blushed, looking quickly down at the floor. It didn't take much to recall the odd, focused expression he'd worn as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"He's a prick," snarled her oblivious sister, taking a few gulps of water and wiping her mouth. Beth flinched; she hoped Merle hadn't heard her. It was one thing to know that you were disliked, and quite another to hear it from the source. Maggie, evidently choosing that moment to pay attention, softened her expression with contrition. Beth could see she still felt bad for how her little sister had ended up playing double agent. "But he - well, he's one of the best fighters we've got, so I guess we've all got to suck it up."

"Enough chit-chat," Daryl's gruff tone rose above the melee. "Listen up."

The sound of voices dropped off immediately, and Rick stepped forward, hands at his belt. "We're going to finish this," he said firmly, looking around at each face in the group as if to give them a chance to dissent. When no one did, he nodded to himself. "Whilst we're gone, Maggie and Glenn, you're in charge of clearing the yard of walkers and patching the gate. Take Tyreese and Sasha with you. If you see anyone - _anyone _who shouldn't be out there -"

Glenn nodded quickly, saving Rick the burden of spelling out his intentions in front of his son who'd just shot a kid for the exact same reason, and the former Sheriff turned his attention to the weaker members of the group, Beth included. "The rest of you, stay out of sight. Don't leave the cellblock. There's gonna be walkers all over the damn place after what just happened, and it's gonna take time to fix the breach." Personally, she had no desire to enter the tombs; they'd already claimed the lives of Lori and T-Dog, several convicts, and who knew how many of the Governor's men.

"Let's get goin' then," Daryl pronounced in his businesslike way. "We're losin' daylight." The four chosen fighters filed out, and Beth thought they made an intimidating sight - she just hoped it would be enough when they were hopelessly outnumbered. Merle brought up the rear and, just before he slipped out, he looked back over his shoulder and tossed her a wink.

Beth nearly melted through the floor.

* * *

This was ridiculous, she thought, a stack of linens in her arms as she went from cell to cell making up beds. There was no way she was developing feelings for Merle. Not a snowflake's chance in hell. They barely knew one another - and what she _did_ know of him was singularly awful. Not only that, he was old enough to be her father, and the baggage he carried would sink an ocean liner. _And_ he'd kidnapped her sister and tortured her impending brother-in-law. She shook out a freshly-laundered blanket with perhaps more vigour than it required. Was that the kind of girl she was, Beth wondered; an intense exchange over some oatmeal and she was anybody's?

But it hadn't just been that, she acknowledged silently. She'd gone from barely noticing Merle Dixon to not being able to avoid him - in less than twenty-four hours. With the way things worked around here, she'd have to get herself together and stop her eyes drifting towards him at every opportunity. There was no space for anyone to have a secret in the prison, not with everyone living on top of each other the way they did. Maggie and Glenn's rampant libidos, Rick's episodic insanity, Carl's mumbling nightmares, the fact that Carol was completely in love with Daryl…things that should have been private were painfully out in the open for all to see. Beth had no desire to add to that unfortunate stewpot, particularly with her overprotective father in the mix. There were a lot of ways to die in the new world, and she didn't want shame to be hers.

Spreading the blanket out over the hard, joyless prison bunk, she tucked in the corners and plumped the pillow as best she could. She, Carol and Andrea had been hard at work since the others left, trying to make the place as welcoming as possible, make them at least feel like it had been worth fighting for. With the cellblock swept and dusted, and all their personal items returned to their rightful places, it did look somewhat homely. Once everything had settled down, Beth resolved to ask Rick if she could go on a scavenger mission for non-essential furnishings that would give the spartan prison a better outlook. If they were going to stay, they needed to try and bring a sense of normality back into their lives. Being nomads had taken its toll on them; they hadn't allowed themselves to hope for a long time.

"Need some help?" Andrea asked, leaning in through the doorway and interrupting her contemplations.

"I've only got Merle's cell to set up," Beth told her with a smile. "He looks like a two-pillow kind of guy to me. What do you think?"

The older woman snorted and shook her head. "I try not to think about him, if I can help it." Following her into the cell furthest from all the others, Andrea helped her clear it out and get started on the bed. "Beth…I never thanked you for rescuing us. If you hadn't…" she pursed her lips and smoothed a crease from the sheet. "What you did was incredible. I owe you my life."

Beth smiled down at blanket that was turned down with military precision. "I'm glad you're safe," she said sincerely.

"Mm, well, you're one of the only ones."

"They'll come around," she assured Andrea. "It's understandable that you wanted to stay in Woodbury - it was close enough to the life we all used to have before. After what you went through on the road…and the Governor - he's -" Beth shifted awkwardly, thinking of how he'd effortlessly parted the crowd by the sheer force of his presence. "He's the sort of person makes you feel like he can protect you from anything."

Andrea gave her a sharp look. "You spoke to him?"

"A little. Michonne and I cooked up a cover story to get me in - honestly, I'm kinda shocked it worked."

"Don't be that shocked," she answered dryly. "Phillip clearly has a type."

Beth hoped she wasn't suggesting what it sounded like. Her face screwed up in a grimace, and she unconsciously hugged the second pillow she'd found to her chest. "Oh, gross," she muttered. "But he's so -" _Old_, her mind supplied. And Merle was older still, yet that hadn't seemed to bother her before. She bit her lip. It wasn't like Beth to speak out of turn like that, and she could see Andrea's slight flinch as she did. "Sorry - I'm sorry, I know you and he…"

"Yeah, well, a lot of good it did me." She looked so defeated just then that Beth couldn't help but reach out and squeeze her hand lightly.

"You really loved him, huh?"

Andrea didn't look at her, but her head moved just a fraction to the affirmative. She didn't need to say that she still felt the same way, that it was too raw to be past tense, and even though he'd done so many awful things, there was probably a small part of her that hoped he could come back from it. Beth tried very hard not to think about another member of their group that theory could apply to as she released the pillow from her death grip and pronounced Merle's cell finished. It was disappointingly bare, but she suspected he wouldn't really care; he didn't strike her as the sort of man that worried overly much about decor.

* * *

What was taking so long? Beth had done everything she could conceivably think of to pass the time whilst Rick's group was looking for the Governor. Their dinner choices were down to ramen or nothing since Daryl hadn't had the chance to go hunting, and there'd been a silent unanimous agreement among them not to eat until everyone else got back. In the meantime, the defences had been fixed up as best they could be, and the four remaining fighters served as a careful watch against the possibility that there might be attack from behind.

Beth was methodically repairing her way through a pile of clothes belonging to various members of their group when Maggie threw open the door. "They're back! Carol, Beth - Daddy! They're back -"

Everyone dropped what they'd been occupied with and dashed after her into the yard. She was surprised to find the sun just beginning to set; the day had felt like the longest one in living memory. She was even more surprised to see the veritable procession that made its way up the long road to the main gate. "You think they're bringing in hostages?" she whispered to her father who'd joined her in the doorway with a speed that belied his disability as well as his age.

"I don't know, sugarplum," Hershel murmured, squinting worriedly at the modified school bus trundling awkwardly behind two pick ups and Daryl's motorcycle. "But I doubt Rick would play it that way." He didn't sound too certain of that, and even Beth had to admit that it didn't exactly make sense. The Governor had categorically proved that he didn't care about his people by pitting them against other survivors. He was hardly going to negotiate a truce for their safe return.

Everyone looked grim, Beth noticed as they disembarked. _Really_ grim. Her heart clenched in her chest. Daryl was plainly fine from the way he casually climbed off his bike and gave Carol a brief nod of acknowledgement the way normal people gathered their loved ones up in a hug. She fidgeted. Michonne and Rick slipped out of the two trucks which, Beth suddenly realised, were crammed full of supplies.

A woman she'd never seen before stepped down from the bus, and Beth pressed her lips together so hard that a ring of white began to show. Tentatively she prodded the idea that he…that _Merle_ might not have come back…and felt it seriously start to endanger her breathing. Unable to stand still a moment longer, Beth sidled up to Daryl as he inspected the wear and tear to what she now knew to be Merle's motorcycle. "Is -" she cleared her throat of the squeak and tried again. "Is your brother…?"

The best thing about Daryl, she thought, was how completely oblivious he was to just about everything. "Huh?" he grunted distractedly, shouldering his crossbow and glancing at her like - well, like she'd just asked him half a nonsensical question. "He's on tha bus," Daryl told her finally, evidently assuming that geographical location would have to suffice if she wasn't willing to say what she meant.

"Right," she said softly, swivelling around to watch the achingly slow process of a dozen elderly folks and small children disembarking from the reclaimed school transport. "Of course he is." Merle Dixon cut his own hand off. He went up against the Governor by himself. He was the closest thing to immortal there could be. Of course he wasn't dead. No, there he was, bounding down the steps like she hadn't spent the last few minutes in a suffocating panic over a man she'd only had one real conversation with.

"They're gonna join us," Beth heard Rick say in response to his son's demand for an answer as to just why they'd brought back the weakest portion of Woodbury's population. Was the Governor gone? What about the rest of his soldiers? The only person she could see that even carried a weapon was the dark-haired woman who'd been driving the bus. Had Rick and the others got them?

Beth's mind was a maelstrom of questions as she helped her father welcome the newcomers to the prison and tried not to see their desperate despair when they realised what was awaiting them inside. Woodbury might've been built up in hearsay as a place of horrors where people were spirited away for torture and walkers were rounded up to be set upon them, but the living quarters were far superior to what the prison had to offer.

Merle and the mystery woman were the last to enter. Trying not to appear too desperate, Beth reached out to lightly brush his arm before he passed. "What's going on?" she asked worriedly, gazing up at him from beneath her lashes, acutely aware of her father standing not more than a few feet away.

The redneck's lips twisted in a manner that wasn't quite a smile. "Tha Governor turned on his own people," he said brusquely. "Killed 'em all, 'cept Karen." Karen, she gathered, was the woman next to him. The one that shot him a sharp glare.

"Don't tell the kid that," she hissed. "You'll give her nightmares."

That was the moment Beth Greene decided that she did not like Karen. Her daddy might preach forgiveness and acceptance and all manner of kindnesses, but she was a teenaged girl at the end of the day, as susceptible to uncharitable thoughts as any, and she'd just been written off a some kind of wilting flower. Not to mention the fact that Karen had called her _kid_. There was a distinct sweetness to her particular revenge, however. Merle's response was a low chuckle and a shake of his head. "Not this one," he smirked, and Beth was absurdly pleased he was apparently standing up for her. "Lil' girl walked right inta Woodbury jes last night. Lied ter tha Governor's face 'n got us out."

"Oh, so that was_ you_," Karen said slowly, turning back to give her a once over. "I never would've guessed." Beth bristled at what the double meaning might be in the words, and the look that accompanied them - but most of all at the close, familiar stance she maintained with Merle.

He'd called Karen by her name.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author Note: Shenanigans! I'm actually beginning to enjoy telling the story from Beth's perspective; she's not so bad for a teenaged girl. This whole chapter is basically Meth, but in a way you're all going to despise me for. _

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Beth seethed her way through the rest of the evening. By the time she'd found space for all the extra people, put Judith down for the night, and made sure her father was okay, she was ready to throw herself onto her hard bunk and sleep for a year. The division between Woodbury former residents and the core prison group had been marked during dinner and it made her uneasy in a way she couldn't explain. She'd picked at her noodles, glancing at the opposite end of the table every so often to see Karen and Merle talking in low tones, their heads close together.

Unable to muster the energy for a proper sulk, Beth tiredly changed into her worn out sleep shorts and vest, her thin shoulders hunched beneath the weight of her exhaustion. Just as she was about to sink gratefully into bed, something tapped against the bars of her cell. Looking up, she was surprised to see Merle on the other side, his face half-hidden by shadow though the full moon outside made the night as light as day. Two conflicting emotions warred within her at that moment - excitement, and annoyance. On the one hand, she'd spent most of the day since their odd breakfast thinking about him. On the other, she was ready for some sleep after which she could only hope that Karen would turn out to be just another bad dream.

"Yes?" she asked archly, her irritation winning out with that sharp reminder. "Can I help you?"

His eyebrows rose at her tone, and he curled his hand around one of the bars that separated them, his piercing gaze trapping her like a fly in amber. Merle had perfected the art of eye contact; it was confrontational, pure alpha male, and it made a small part of Beth - a very small part, the part that governed her shaking knees - want to sink to the floor in supplication. "Somethin' wrong, girlie?" he rumbled, too quietly to be overhead by the other cells.

Crossing her arms over her chest, self-conscious of how little she was wearing, Beth scowled. "I'm tired," she snapped. "All that running around after your friends from Woodbury must've worn me out." It was childish, and she knew it as soon as the words had left her mouth. Of course she didn't begrudge the old people and children a place among them, even though she worried about how they were going to provide for everyone - they barely had enough food for themselves as it was - and the five she'd broken out with the night before had earned the right to be there. In truth, it was only Karen that bothered her; the woman had come into their home with the Governor and shot at their people, and Rick had just brought her along like all was forgiven. Beth couldn't entirely trust her own reservations about her either, which made her feel very odd indeed.

Merle's expression hardened and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. The way she'd said it...God, he probably thought she meant _he_ wasn't welcome, that by lumping them all in the same category that she'd written them all off as outsiders from the enemy encampment. That certainly seemed to be the line of his reasoning as he turned away without another word.

"Merle!"

It took a minute for her brain to catch up with her mouth, and Beth was just grateful that he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, though he didn't look at her just then. She slipped out of her cell and came within one awkward step of his rigid form. "I'm sorry," she said, more softly this time, "I didn't mean that how it came out."

"Really. So how did ya mean it?"

Beth shifted. The concrete was cold under her feet, and she was distressingly aware of how many people could potentially overhear their conversation. "Can we...uh...can we not do this right here?" she asked, rubbing her arms that had risen up in goosebumps. At least that got his attention. Merle swivelled around slowly, the movement controlled and economical, the ultimate hunter. She realised that despite his bulk, he could get around silently - and when he looked at her, she felt like prey.

Merle didn't follow her when she backed into her cell. He stood on the threshold, his face closed off from her speculation. "Come on in," Beth told him, settling onto her bed and pulling her feet up to hide them in the blanket. "We can't exactly have a conversation if you're going stand out there."

"Think yer daddy might have somethin' to say 'bout us..._conversin_' in yer room," Merle pointed out coolly.

She flushed at the implication. He made a valid point, but she also knew that her father was deeply asleep in the next cell and nothing short of a full on walker attack would wake him up. "What Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him," Beth murmured, and patted the free space on the mattress next to her. "Would you just please come here?"

Granted, he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it, but eventually he entered the room, and she could see him better in the glow of the moon that shone through the barred windows. Merle's severe features looked carved from granite; there was no sign of his habitual smirk that had turned her insides to jelly earlier. She fought to keep her expression neutral as the bed sagged slightly beneath his weight and the rough canvas of his combat jacket brushed her arm. Her memories of Jimmy had faded like a photograph left out in the rain, and a handful of make out sessions when they could both sneak away from the constant guardianship of the others were hardly enough to tide her over. The brief moments of contact she'd won from Merle had woken up her hormones with a vengeance.

"Ya wanted a talk," he said, after the silence had stretched a few moments.

Beth forcibly dragged herself back into the present and buried the impulse to press up against his side. "I really am sorry," she whispered earnestly. "It's just...all these people...we're barely managing as it is, and it's going to be even more difficult with the Governor out there plotting his revenge."

"Ya think he's comin' back."

"Don't you?"

"Sure," Merle shrugged. "But not fer a while. Tha Governor ain't tha kind fer suicide missions. When he comes fer us, it'll be wit' a proper army, an' he ain't gonna leave one of us alive."

He didn't need to say that they would have no warning next time, no opportunity to evacuate and set up the defence they had. Next time, he'd hit fast and hard and any of them that survived the initial attack would only have torture and eventual execution to look forward to. Beth exhaled in long stream, balling her fists into the blanket. God had given them the world, and now all they had were monsters and men.

"That what's got ya all het up?"

What a question, Beth thought, trying not to dwell on the sheer surreality of the situation she found herself in. Literally anyone else lounging on the end of her bed talking out their fears like this would make more sense than Merle Dixon, and she included his notoriously terse younger brother in that assessment. The guy just didn't seem like the type who'd have the patience or inclination to bother with her. Only her father and Carol ever really made an effort to talk to her like she was a person with thoughts and opinions of her own.

"No. Not the only thing," she admitted, staring down at the pale skin of her gangly legs. There were faint bruises dotted along the length of them, the origin of which she couldn't identify, and she missed the fuller figure and the tan she used to have in summer before everything went wrong. Beth couldn't remember Merle ever being so still before; when he was locked up in the cage, he'd constantly be pacing or sharpening a blade or cleaning a gun - anything that kept him in motion. Absently she wondered what had changed. "Karen."

Her answer earned a dark chuckle from Merle. "Tha Governor tried ta kill her," he reminded Beth, and for a moment she wondered if he was actually telling her off. "An' it ain't like they was knockin' boots neither, so she ain't gonna sell us out anytime soon."

Oh. He thought it was a trust thing. She bit her lip and didn't answer, realising that Merle was giving her way more credit than she was due. Not that she _did_ trust Karen, but that was more of a Pavlovian reaction than a logical one. After everything she'd seen, she'd have to be a total moron to accept anyone else at face value.

A gasp caught in her throat as she felt Merle's rough fingertip beneath her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. "'Less it ain't her loyalty yer worried about," he murmured, hard mouth curling into a smirk. Beth gazed up at him, the breaths shallow in her chest and vibrant pink blooming across her cheekbones. Every last fibre of her being centred on that one tiny point of contact between them, and on the heat that radiated from his muscular, powerful body. The summer blue of her eyes was down to fine rings around heavily dilated pupils as she silently mapped each harsh line and faded scar that gave his face such desolate beauty. "Ya jealous, lil' girl?" Merle asked huskily, the tone igniting some primal spark inside of her, before the dawning horror of his words intruded on her consciousness.

He was making fun of her. Again. After she'd spoken up for him, and risked her life for him, and spent most of the day worrying about him - his idea of gratitude was a bit of light flirting followed by some casual cruelty. Beth tensed and tried to jerk away, only to realise that he was holding her fast. "I think you should go," Beth told him, endeavouring to keep her voice steady despite her anger and humiliation. "It's late."

Merle seemed as surprised by her action as she'd been by his question. He also didn't seem to notice he was gripping her jaw in one huge hand, giving her no choice but to face him for every moment of the struggle it took to process his little taunt backfiring. "Ah hell," he muttered. "I was jes messin' wit' ya. Didn't think ya'd actually - "

"Care?" Beth suggested hoarsely. "Yeah. Go figure." As his hold slackened in response, she pulled free and shifted away, putting a clear foot of space between them and burying her face in her knees. She could just imagine him and Karen sharing a good laugh over it in the morning, interspersed with anecdotes of all the things they probably got up to Woodbury. Beth felt sick even thinking about it. Notably, Merle still hadn't left her cell.

"Hey," he said after a minute, and Beth felt the bed dip as he turned his body towards her. "Darlin', look at me."

"I'd really rather not."

A low, amused snort. "Guess I can't blame ya fer that. I ain't exactly a pretty picture."

Damn him. Damn his stupid face and his stupid chiselled jaw. Damn him for saying the right things when all she wanted him to do was _go away_. Beth stopped short of banging her forehead against her knees, if only because they were quite bony and it would probably hurt. She wanted to stay angry at Merle's insensitivity - she wanted to _so badly_ - but she had to admit that he likely hadn't done it on purpose. After all, _she _was the idiot who got attached to people in a heartbeat; he couldn't have anticipated it on the strength of one conversation and a few heated looks. "Don't fish for compliments," she admonished, turning her head just a fraction in his direction, her lips forming a stubborn pout. "It's not attractive."

"Sounds ter me like I don't need ter worry about that none," he teased, tugging gently on a lock of her hair. The tension rose up in her shoulders again, and she knew he saw it by the way he sighed. "Girlie, if it were up ter me, I wouldn't have no problem takin' advantage of yer bad judgement."

That got her attention. Beth raised her head and looked at him in shock. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

Merle cocked an eyebrow. "Fine lil' thing like you? I'd be a damn fool not ta." He smirked at the blush that incited, and Beth made a faint noise that sounded entirely too close to a whimper for her sanity when his gaze drifted below her neckline and back up again. "But I got Daryl ta think about," he continued calmly, as if she wasn't seconds away from bursting into flames. "Officer Friendly an' all them other assholes is jes waitin' on me ta fuck up so they kin kick me ter tha kerb. Ya can be sure messin' wit' tha farmer's jailbait daughter comes under that definition."

She couldn't fault his reasoning, even if it was crudely put. Beth knew exactly how the others would react if they thought there was something going on between her and Merle. Hell, her father had insisted on having _the_ _talk _with Carl after their comparatively innocent exchange in this very cell on their first day at the prison; he'd probably skip the discussion entirely and just shoot Merle in the face for the mere _suggestion_ of a relationship between them. Never mind that the pool of eligible men was decreasing by the day. Never mind that she'd been alone since Jimmy died and that she missed having someone look at her with desire in their eyes. Those things wouldn't matter to anyone; it wouldn't matter that she _wanted_ Merle because no one thought of her as an adult _except _Merle. The older man's frank appraisal had stalled something in her brain and, feeling like she should respond before her silence was mistaken for offence, Beth could only think of one thing to say: "I'm not jailbait."

"Yeah? An' how we measurin' that - years or months?"

Beth chewed her lower lip. "Weeks."

"Uh huh," he grunted, leaning his weight back on his hand, apparently oblivious to her appreciation for the glorious view it yielded, the black t-shirt he wore stretched tight over his broad chest. "It don't matter none. I ain't gonna risk losin' my brother again. You an' me…we're jes gonna hafta figure out a way ta deal."

If she said she wasn't disappointed, it'd be a lie. Merle wasn't even going to entertain the idea of anything happening between them, and she really couldn't blame him for that. His loyalty to his brother was one of the reasons she'd started seeing him as more than the racist redneck murderer everyone else said he was. Feeling deflated and cold, Beth pulled back the blanket and slipped beneath it, trying not to enjoy the way Merle rearranged himself around her figure under the covers. "We could be friends," Beth suggested, forcing out the words before she lost her nerve.

"_Friends_?"

"Yes, friends," she repeated, exasperation colouring her tone at the doubtful way he'd said it. "You know, people who spend time together and talk - kinda like we're doing now, only without all the sexual tension."

Much she enjoyed the sound of his laughter, Beth hoped she'd learn to filter the things that came out of her mouth sometime soon, otherwise she was destined to remain a permanent shade of tomato in Merle's presence. Fortunately, he got ahold of himself pretty quick and gave her considering look. "That don't sound like much fun at all," he grinned, baring even white teeth at her.

Beth stuck out her tongue. "Take it or leave it, Dixon."

For split second, she thought he was actually going for the latter option, and felt a hard pinch within her chest as he pushed himself up off the bed - but when he turned around, his expression wasn't closed off and remote like Beth expected, but oddly thoughtful. "Git some sleep, angel," Merle told her, snagging the blanket and pulling it up to her chin. "I'll see ya in tha mornin'."

* * *

It was a long time before Beth managed to do what Merle told her to, and by the time she eventually did fall asleep, she was only out for what felt like a few minutes before Judith's cries roused her from bed. Normally she and Carol would trade off looking after the baby with all the other domestic chores there were to be done, but there was no chance of that with so many more people to organise. Thinking longingly of the hot shower she'd had in Woodbury, Beth quickly shimmied into her clothes from the day before, her back to the open bars of her cell.

As she slipped her t-shirt over her head, the sounds of a scuffle reached her ears. "Hey, man! What the hell?! Put me down!" a terrified voice demanded, and Beth spun around to see Merle holding a pimply teenaged boy several inches off the ground by one hand fisted in the front of his sweater. The tip of Merle's bayonet was pressed against the sweating boy's throat.

"Um…Merle? What _are_ you doing?" she asked bemusedly, though truth be told, she was a little worried by the dark, furious look in his eyes.

"Kid thinks this place is some kinda goddamn peep show," he growled, and though it took her a moment, Beth suddenly blushed with understanding. Merle's attention was back on her young stalker though, and he didn't seem to notice. "Hafta make a few changes 'round here, girl, startin' wit' tha lack of privacy." That much was obvious. It hadn't been so bad when it was just the prison group; they'd been travelling together for so long that they'd just gotten into the habit of ignoring each other's vulnerable moments. Clearly the new additions weren't going to pay them the same courtesy.

"Look at her again, yer gonna be swallowin' teeth," Merle promised, his voice a rasping snarl as he shook the kid like a misbehaving puppy. The hunting knife strapped to his arm scraped against the new whiskers just sprouting on the boy's chin, and his brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head with panic.

The only way this could be worse was if…

_Click click._

Yep, Beth realised, her daddy was awake and listening, and there was no way the kid was going to chance even saying hi to her in the future. "Son, you and I need to have a talk," Hershel said gravely, hobbling out of his own cell and calmly looking up at the boy dangling in the air like it was the most natural thing in the world. He even gave Merle a cordial nod. "I'll take it from here, Merle. Why don't you and Beth go to breakfast? We'll be along in a moment."

Pressing a kiss to her temple, Hershel ushered the trembling boy into his cell and Beth took his advice, beating a hasty retreat to the common area. There was no way she wanted to hear her father's speech about how she was a good girl, and and how she was off-limits, and how, even though he was only an old man with one leg, he could still turn a shotgun on any jumped up little prick sniffing around his daughter. It was embarrassing enough hearing it secondhand from an amused Maggie; she definitely didn't want Merle in earshot when her daddy was on a roll.

"You have _such_ a way with people," she teased, glancing up at the fuming man next to her, and was gratified to see his mouth twitch as he held back the beginnings of smile.

"That kid was a pain in tha ass back in Woodbury an' he ain't changed fer tha better."

As it turned out, there was something quite endearing about a grumpy Merle, and despite their resolution to friendship the night before, Beth was more than a little charmed by his championing of her virtue. It was enough to sustain her through almost half an hour of feeding Judith and helping Carol to serve up a bucketload of oatmeal and a vat of coffee to the hungry denizens of of the prison. Light as air, she floated through the clean up, delighted when Merle recruited Andrea to help him sort through the veritable armoury of weapons they'd looted from Woodbury. They staked out at one of the tables, whilst Beth and Carol started an inventory of what supplies they had, stocking up the cage as a pantry. With Tyreese and Sasha supervising the new people, and Rick leading their own in an assessment of the defences, the prison was uncommonly peaceful.

Until a shrill, blood-curdling scream rang out in the silence.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author Note: This took longer than it really should have - and got a bit experimental along the way - but the good news is, the next chapter is practically writing itself and should be out within the next 24-48 hours. So nobody lynch me, okay?_

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Beth understood the theory of muscle memory. It was a simple one; the repetition of certain actions over a prolonged period of time until they could be handled by the subconscious instead of the conscious mind. She could see it in action all around her: the speed and accuracy with which Rick could take apart a gun, clean and reassemble it; the vicious grace of Michonne wielding her katana; Daryl's fluid ability to reload his crossbow on the run, barely aiming in between. Muscle memory was a misnomer, but it seemed apt. And apparently, since the heart was also a muscle it, too, maintained a memory.

The memory in question was fear - and they all felt it, scorching white hot in their chests. None of them had survived this long by ignoring a warning of such magnitude. She could go the full distance in a second, from her bittersweet enjoyment of sneaking glances at Merle across the room, to the screeching halt of all her higher faculties - not that they'd been pulling their weight recently - and the takeover by whatever part of her genes that remained unevolved from the first time a homosapien had ever run, shrieking, away from a sabre tooth tiger. In order to bypass the paralysis her body instinctively reacted with, Beth concentrated on her one task to the exclusion of all others: keep Judith safe. Scrambling to her feet, she scooped the baby into her arms and reached for her machete with her free hand. As recently as six months ago, she would've thought it an overreaction, maybe even tried to ascertain the validity of the danger - but she wasn't that person any more. It didn't matter who or what or why; something had happened, and it might be walkers or it might be the Governor or it might just be a spider loose in one of the cells. _Better to be safe than sorry_ had replaced _it could be worse_ in her personal arsenal of mantras for the apocalypse.

As they had planned in the long prison nights, Beth's place was in the guard tower if they were attacked. It was reasonably defensible; one person could hold the single staircase for as long as they had strength in their arms and ammunition for their guns. She and Carol had stocked it accordingly, though it was Merle who'd first pointed it out as a good place for the weakest to hole up. It was him too, that was pushing Carol in her direction at that moment, the blade once again strapped to his arm, and a rifle in his free hand. "Go on up there, both of ya. Keep yer heads down." He didn't panic. He didn't snarl. He didn't look at her either. Merle was completely and totally calm as he directed Andrea outside for Rick and headed to the cellblock without another word. It was eerie, she thought. Beth was so used to seeing him animated - angry or smirking, running his mouth or trying to scare them, in some way more present than anyone else in the room - that his almost low-key reaction distracted her more than it should have. She'd paused on the stairs to watch what he did, not expecting to see him take the keys to the cellblock with him, unable to fathom what was happening in there that would necessitate such an action.

Carol's hand on her back shoved her upwards with relentless pressure, and Beth was halfway under the console when she realised it wasn't just one scream she could hear, it was many. It was gunshots. It was snarls and groans. It was the crash of metal on concrete. It was the tombs spilling open at last, and raining down death upon them.

Beth hugged Judith close to her body, closed her eyes and prayed.

* * *

_BANG._

Running footsteps.

"_Merle_!" Daryl.

"He's in the cellblock -" Andrea.

"Daddy's in there too -" Maggie, choked.

"Get tha goddamn door open…_Merle_!"

"Daryl -" Rick.

"C'mon, we have to -" Daryl.

Snarling, loudly.

Faintly - _Boom. Boom. Boom. _And - "Yeah, you wanna piece of me? Come an' get it, motherfuckers!" _Boom._ "That's right - yeah!"

"Wait! Daryl, wait -" Rick.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Click. _

_"_Goddamn it -_" Smash. "_I ain't done yet! I don't need a gun ter kick y'all back inta hell -" _Thud. _"Tell tha Devil ta keep my spot warm!"

Groans. Scuffling.

"Shit!" Andrea.

"Hold the door! Don't let them get through -" Glenn.

"There's too many!" Maggie.

_"_I ain't gonna jus' leave him_…MERLE!" _

Screams.

"Get back! Get tha fuck back!"

"No…_DARYL NO_!"

_BANG._

* * *

Judith wailed in counterpoint to the shrieks of the trapped Woodbury residents in the cellblock, and Beth couldn't pull her any further into her body to protect her delicate ears from the sound of everyone down below firing into the crowd of walkers. She bit down on her tongue until she could taste blood, fighting against every impulse in her body that demanded she find out exactly what was happening more intimately than the aural tale could tell. Carol crouched in the doorway, her breath coming in harsh pants, a fine sheen of sweat forming on the back of her neck. Not a word passed between them; not a word, not a look, not a single acknowledgement that one or both of them might be killed today; one or both of the men they cared about might be bitten and put down; some or all of their family might not make it. To look at each other would be to confirm that they felt the same fear, that any and all of the scenarios were possible things that existed outside of their fevered nightmares.

The voices that had been so distinct in their original form blended into one another with the addition of walker groans that felt close enough to touch. Her world was contained in one tiny sphere, the furnace heat of the baby in her arms and the anguished cries no amount of rocking or soothing could quiet. Beth wanted to screech her terror too; she wanted to scream and sob and have someone raise her up and tell her it was all going to be okay. She wanted not to know that the hushing sound on the staircase outside their stronghold was Michonne alone, defending the last bastion of their group. She wanted not to know that the Dixons couldn't be parted by something so simple as an ocean of walkers and if one dived in headlong the other would too, no matter what danger presented, because they were blood. She wanted more than _anything_ not to know what it sounded like when the wave of the dead crashed against the living and their only choice was _stand_.

* * *

Time moved like molasses. After what seemed like hours, Beth realised she could see something through the grubby panel that topped the upper half of the door. It was Michonne pressed back against it, the powerful muscles in her arms flexing with every swing of her sword, and she could only guess at how many walkers there had to be to have pushed her upwards like that. One thing was for certain - if they didn't let her in, she would eventually tire and the dead would overwhelm her.

Uncurling herself from her awkward position under the console, she set a flailing, howling, red-faced and hysterical Judith down in the blanket-lined box that had become her emergency crib, trying not to look at Daryl's handwriting on the side of it proclaiming _Lil' Asskicker_. If he was still alive, he wouldn't appreciate what she was about to do, but Beth couldn't just sit there any longer. Pushing the box as far under the desk as she could, she stood up and grabbed hold of her machete. "Carol," she hollered above the noise, jerking her chin at the door. "We have to get her in here. She won't survive otherwise."

The older woman glanced back at her, only for a second, but it was enough to see the despair in her eyes. Maybe they were fighting for nothing; maybe they were all going to die in this godforsaken place. Maybe T-Dog was right and it would become a tomb for all of them in the end. Beth had a strange relationship with death and the concept of it since her brush with suicide back home, but the impulse that had seized her then was symptomatic of the same family of emotions that drove her now. She'd fight to stay alive, of course, and she'd be grateful for every extra moment she got, but there was a small part of her that thought it would be easier if she didn't. If her father and her sister and damn near everyone else that mattered was gone, what was the use? She'd fight for Judith, the first of her generation to be born into this hostile world, and all the while wondering whether it wasn't kinder to save her from that fate. But still she'd fight. That was all there was to it.

With a loud warning to Michonne, Carol yanked open the door and allowed her to stumble in backwards, whilst she and Beth battled to get it closed once more. Rotten hands reached around the frame, grabbing at their clothes and trying to claw at their skin. One got his brawny, scarred arm almost all the way through, forcing Beth to hack at it until it dropped onto the dusty floor and they could seal the breach. In the moment, she didn't fully process what it felt like to have the blade meet flesh, but once the rogue limb hit the ground with a strangely final thump, she realised that it had been spongy, not at all as she expected, and bile crawled up the back of her throat.

"Stupid," Michonne growled, her nostrils flaring with every gasping breath. Beth could see the way her muscles trembled in her exhaustion, but the woman didn't stand still for a moment, roaming the length of the room to look down on the rest of the group as they battled for their lives. "Didn't have to go down like this."

She wasn't sure what that meant. Michonne saw things differently from the rest of them; ironically, she was most like Merle in the way she rationalised and planned. Beth wondered if she'd been in the military too; they didn't know anything about her beyond her first name, and it seemed plausible. "Is there any way -" her breath hitched slightly as she watched Maggie kick open the outside door and pull Glenn through it with her, followed by a procession of walkers. "Can't we do _anything_?"

"That door isn't going to hold," Carol told them above the horrendous racket of the first walkers on the stairs pounding against the metal and plexiglass. It was build to withstand attacks by inmates, but sooner or later it would simply cave in under the onslaught, and Judith's screams were drawing even more of them to press against it. When they'd envisioned hiding up here, their group wasn't split and dispersed beneath a huge carpet of walkers. There wasn't a single item of furniture in the room that wasn't screwed down they could use to reinforce the door. There wasn't a way to buy more time than they already had, only to make sure they were ready when it ran out. "The others -"

"They're on their own, and so are we." Michonne said firmly, flicking blood and gore from her katana, before rolling her shoulders. "We've got enough ammo to thin the crowd, if we can keep them stoppered up in the doorway."

"Carol's the best shot."

"You and me then," she answered, with a glance at Beth. "We have to keep it locked down. If they get in -"

Beth shook her head. She didn't want to die trapped in here, and they couldn't wait for rescue. It was all but impossible to discern what was going on below now, but she assumed that anyone who could have helped them wasn't in a position to. There was no way Rick would've left the fate of his daughter in their hands if he had any other choice. Taking up a position against the door, she braced herself. Michonne was the one to release the locks and turn the handle, just a fraction until the full force of the walkers rammed against their shoulders.

Even though she'd been expecting it, Beth gasped, her boots scrabbling for purchase on the concrete. So focused on leaning every ounce of her weight into the job, she barely noticed Carol in front of her, coolly aiming the muzzle of her rifle through the gap, and the eardrum-shattering explosions right next to her head that made her teeth reverberate against her skull. She _did_ notice that the pressure eased for a few moments, then came back full force immediately afterwards as the next in line stumbled over their fallen comrades. "If we can stack them up -" she panted, wincing when the door batted against her shoulder. "They'll be easier to take out tripping over themselves." Her voice sounded odd in her ears, like she was hearing herself underwater, and a small, distant part of her realised that it was the aftereffects of the gunshots. When Michonne didn't answer, Beth wasn't surprised. Either she agreed, or she was so deafened she hadn't heard.

They didn't hear a hand punch through the plexiglass either, only becoming aware of it when it reached in and grabbed Beth by the hair. The other women couldn't fail to heed her then, or the scream of pain and fear that tore through her chest as she rose up, trying to avoid having her hair pulled out by the roots.

"CAROL, SHOOT IT -" she shrieked, clawing at the dead fingers, trying to loosen their grip. Carol's face blazed white and scared in front of her eyes as she shifted around to get a bead on the one walker in the crowd. Michonne was braced against the door, only her strength keeping it mostly closed, whilst Beth scrabbled desperately against the force that was dragging her closer to the walker's gaping mouth as it tried shoving its whole upper body through the portal. "_SHOOT IT_!"

She was close enough to watch the round go in - through the temple, perfectly. She was close enough to see the milky white walker eyes, and the way they didn't change a bit as the bullet exited from the left side in a spray of rusty, clotted blood and little shards of grey-white, maybe skull or brain matter. The fingers clamped to her scalp didn't exactly loosen, but Beth managed to untangle herself in due course, and dodge the other hands that grasped through, slamming herself against an unoccupied bit of doorspace until it began to shut ponderously once more.

Michonne turned the key, and all three of them backed away. "That's what I didn't want to happen," she said flatly, feeling around on the table behind her for one of the pistols. "But now it has -"

Losing the panel had weakened the structural integrity of the door even further. Beth used her machete to shove each corpse out of the way, letting the other two women shoot through the portal and into the herd beyond it. For that was what had undoubtedly been visited upon them - and she was surprised no one had noticed it. With the Governor's settlement, not to mention the noisy battles of oneupmanship they'd been participating in, both at the prison and Woodbury, it was inevitable that the walkers would be drawn to the signs of habitation.

Her arms ached, and so did her head. Her lungs and throat felt coated with the reek of death, and it laid so thick on her tongue she felt like she could taste it. Beth chopped away at the minutes the same as she did with the walkers, her focus narrowing to a pattern of blocking and stabbing, forcing her exhausted body onwards with the dogged determination just to get through one more round, one more, one more. Everything else - Judith's subdued sobbing, the blasts of gunfire from Carol and Michonne, whatever was happening downstairs - had been tuned to a dull buzz in her ears. She felt like she would just go on forever - _stab, block, stab, block_ - until the last synapse in her body croaked its very last command, and she just shut down, dropping to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Then Carol's hand grasped her forearm, and her warm weight leaned into her side, and she said: "It's over now, Beth."

* * *

That, as it turned out, was not strictly true. They could open the door now, which they did - with great trepidation as a veritable mountain of corpses had built up outside - but at the bottom of the stairs, there were still a few. Beth couldn't believe what she was seeing. The sheer magnitude of the attack was staggering. It would take them hours to get the place cleared out; _days_ to burn all the bodies. More than that, she couldn't believe they'd survived it.

Michonne and Carol took over the main duty of pitching the bodies off the staircase, leaving Beth to retrieve Judith, whose hysteria had ebbed away with exhaustion as she cried herself to sleep. She hoped it wouldn't do her too much harm; Beth felt like they all suffered from an extended form of traumatic stress, but that baby was going to grow up with the sounds of screaming and gunfire embedded in her subconscious.

Shakily, she descended, holding Judith inside her box to protect her from the gore they were all covered in. Her knees quaked and she struggled with each step as she emerged. From the dust motes that swirled in the shafts of bright sunlight, Beth knew it was still early in the day. They'd been fighting for their lives for what was probably less than an hour all told, and now the common area was awash with blood. She barely noticed when Michonne casually put down the remaining few walkers, or when Carol took her elbow and helped her down to the ground. They just stood there a moment, silent and shellshocked, until a rustle from the cage on the other side of the room drew their attention.

Michonne was the one to go bounding over. Beth marvelled at her, the way her seemingly tireless body could still propel her across the room like that after what they'd just been through. Someone within the cage let out a cry - she wasn't sure if it was joyful or just desperately thankful that someone had survived - and the door swung inwards. Beth had to rise up on her toes to see her pull Andrea out looking much the worse for wear.

The outside door slammed open almost directly afterwards, and Beth found herself set upon by her sister and Glenn in seconds. "Beth!" Maggie gasped, cupping her face in blood-spattered hands. "Oh thank God you're okay."

Beth nodded dazedly, resting her forehead against Maggie's for just a moment, before everything else intruded in on her reeling mind. "Daddy?" she whispered hoarsely. "Rick…Carl?" She couldn't make her lips form Daryl or Merle, not yet.

Her sister shook her head. "I don't know. Everything happened so fast…we lost sight of them. Once Daryl -" Maggie stuttered to a halt, as if sensing the way Carol teetered on her words.

"Is he -?"

They were saved from the answer by Glenn's exclamation of: "Rick!" and turning en masse to see their leader limping out of the cellblock, one hand on Carl's shoulder, their bodies wilted with exhaustion.

"Everybody okay?" he rasped, haunted gaze moving to each of them as if searching for injuries.

Along with the chorus of affirmative murmurs, Beth felt herself being moved along by attrition, closer to the cellblock as everyone crowded in. She handed Judith to Rick when she got there, not realising until she did how heavy the box was, or how much her hands were shaking. "Thank you," he murmured. "For keeping her safe. I…I can't…" Maybe most of them suspected that Judith's was Shane's, but she was half Lori's too, and there was no doubt that Rick had loved his wife very much. He did the best he could for the little girl, and in that moment she could see the overwhelming sense of duty he held, how much it killed him to have not been the one protecting her, to not even know if she was still alive. Beth gave him a weak smile and nodded, shouldering her way past him into the cellblock.

If she'd thought the carnage was bad outside, it was nothing compared to what awaited them. Tears burned her eyes as she recognised a few of the people from Woodbury among the dead; they'd been too slow getting up the stairs and they'd been caught there, trapped in the flood of walkers that issued from the tombs. The door that had held back the herd hung open forlornly in the background. Picking her way through the bodies, she sped up as her father's voice reached her ears, almost falling up the last few as Maggie joined her.

There were people poking their heads out into the light - Tyreese, Sasha, Bob the medic, Alice the doctor, the kid who'd been spying on her earlier, a sobbing girl of about fourteen who clutched at Rowan's lifeless body in the doorway of their cell. Milton. Karen. Hershel, who gathered his girls up in a painful embrace. By now she was crying so hard she could barely breathe, her fingers tangled in her father's shirt, face buried in Maggie's shoulder. Part of it was relief, the unbelievable knowledge that so many of their group had survived the onslaught against such odds. The other part was grief for the ones they'd lost, and the ones still missing.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author Note: Exciting news, y'all! The amazing and talented __**Athlete Girl **__has written an AU Meth companion piece to this fic titled __**They Mar My Path**__ set in the SFTD timeline from chapter six. Check it out, and make sure to show your appreciation!_

_In the meantime, it's back to those pesky Dixons...seriously, people, I love messing with you._

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Believing in God was something that had been ingrained into Beth from the moment she was old enough to grasp theoretical ideas. Church on Sundays, grace before dinner, prayers before bed; they weren't just motions to her, they were real tributes to the creator that had made them and watched over them and took care of them. For a while, after her mother and brother were taken by the virus, she'd started to question her faith, pushing against the boundaries and willing them to stretch to encompass all the new horrors she had to deal with. And for a moment, she even thought that perhaps _giving_ herself up to God was the answer, for surely he wouldn't condemn someone who'd been faithful her whole life just for seeking a way to end her pain. It didn't matter, of course, because she hadn't done it - and she'd hung all her hopes on the strength of her belief, even though what was happening was beyond anything she could fathom. Never before had she actually thought to question God's plan, or even if he had one at all. To even try and believe that all the events were a result of random chance or the capricious dabblings of a bored deity was something Beth considered beyond her own abilities.

But not today.

She'd been happy. Sitting at the table with Carol, sorting cans of green beans and chickpeas, Judith making sleepy contented sounds in her crib next to them, she'd been happy. Half-listening to the low rumble of Merle's voice as he discussed the merits of various firearms with Andrea, and glancing up occasionally to meet his eyes in their covert, private language made for two, she'd been happy. Now people were dead and gone, and she could give it all the context she wanted but it could only ever amount to logical sense - and logic wasn't something that applied to the heart. God had given her Maggie and her father and the others back, but he'd claimed two in payment. That one was Merle couldn't help but feel anything other than personal.

* * *

Eventually, they were all arrayed on the upper level, dirty and traumatised. Beth had managed to get ahold of herself, though in part she suspected it was merely her dehydrated body pulling rank over her battered emotions. The Woodbury group had undoubtedly fared the worst, having lost five people to the walkers - the Starks, whose infant granddaughter had survived in Karen's cell; old Mrs. McLeod, torn to pieces mere steps from the tombs; Rowan, who'd died protecting her daughter; and Eileen, the heavily pregnant one that Maggie had been compulsively avoiding since their arrival the day before. It was a tragedy beyond comprehension, but Beth couldn't focus on how it might feel for the those left behind when they had their own losses to contemplate.

"I know you're all exhausted -" Rick said slowly, and she tried not to think of the last time he'd said that to them, on the grass outside the prison before they lost Lori and T-Dog. "But we need to move these bodies, and I need volunteers…to search the tombs for Daryl and Merle."

He looked around at them, and Beth tried to see what he was seeing: tired, scared and demoralised people who were as close to breaking point as they'd ever been. Coming on the heels of the Governor, this attack seemed a lot like divine punishment. Glenn, Maggie and Michonne were chosen for the expedition, though Beth had to wonder if they truly needed all the remaining fighters in the group when surely there couldn't be another walker left for miles around. Everyone else was waiting for something that wasn't going to happen: the prison group had gotten used to Daryl leading the charge. Rick spoke, his right-hand man acted, and they all followed suit. Beth felt the iron fist inside her chest clench. She didn't understand how she could be devastated and furious at the same time, but she was.

Pulling away from her father, she leaned down and grabbed the ankles of the nearest walker that wasn't a member of the Woodbury group, feeling every muscle in her back and shoulders creaking in protest as she began to pull it towards the edge of the walkway. "Well?" Beth demanded, glancing up at the collection of eyes on her. "What are you all waiting for?"

Admittedly, it wasn't the triumphant spring into action that she hoped for, but slowly, surely, the others began to move. Tyreese was the first to rouse himself, helping her to pitch the body over onto the ground floor, and snagging another. Little by little, everyone else who wasn't in need of medical attention or taking care of the children began to lend their strength to the effort. Beth worked mechanically and silently, her lips pressed into a tight line, handling the corpses with a level of impersonality she'd never thought she'd be able to. They weren't the enemy; they weren't the Governor or one of his men. They were just sad, mindless creatures who couldn't be anything other than exactly what they were. She couldn't pity them, but she couldn't hate them either, and her anger was directionless, pinballing around her body without an outlet.

"Hey," Tyreese murmured, after they'd been at it for a while, almost all the bodies laid out on the ground floor ready to load into their one wheelbarrow to be piled up outside and burned. The ones they knew merited a real funeral, and would take their places next to the other marked graves. She'd sing Amazing Grace. No one would cry, they'd just dab their eyes and lock up their emotions behind one more layer of surviving and soldiering on. "You okay?"

Flipping her sweaty hair out of her face, Beth looked up at him. He was a good person. Kind and honourable. The sort who didn't deserve her wrath for a question posed out of concern, and nor did he deserve the whole ugly truth of it. Instead, she shrugged. "I'm alive." And with that, rolled the last of the unnamed corpses over the side where it landed with a soft flump on top of all the rest.

Wisely, he didn't try to talk to her again.

* * *

"Goddammit, I said I don't need no help -" snarled a familiar voice that echoed in the chasm of the tombs. Beth, at the top of the stairs, nearly fell over the balcony craning to get a look. "Yer gonna get reacquainted wit' my fist if ya don't back tha fuck off." Merle - or a barely recognisable apparition of him - slouched through the door, his knifehand dripping blood onto the concrete, and his other arm holding up a grey-faced Daryl. Rick and the others followed at a strangely respectful distance; she wasn't sure what had sparked his malevolence, and she didn't really care. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the railing.

"Doc -" Merle spat out, ignoring the cellblock full of shocked, immobilised people as he started up the stairs, practically carrying his brother despite the exhaustion he had to be feeling. It looked as though he'd bathed in walker guts. "Got a job fer ya."

Carol was on the pair as soon as she put Judith down, fluttering around Daryl in a way that, oddly, matched up with what Beth had done in the torture cell under Woodbury. "Daryl -" she gasped out, her distress obvious enough that even Merle paused, gave them a moment that was far too private to be conducted in front of the whole group as it was.

"Don't fuss, woman," he croaked, managing to lift his head and reassure her with a half-smile. "It's jes a broken ankle. Some dumbass knocked us down tha stairs, an' Merle landed on me." Daryl sucked in a breath as he wobbled slightly and was forced to put weight on his ankle, until Merle gripped him more tightly. "Fucker's heavy."

As Hershel and Carol hustled the brothers into a cell to be checked over, Beth stared down at her hands, willing them to uncurl. Rusty blood had settled in every tiny line like spidery webbing, but the object of her concern was how they appeared to have taken over the initiative to stop her from launching herself at Merle despite his battered, bruised and overall quite disgusting appearance. The relief was one thing, robbing her legs of the strength to hold her up and her head of the power to think clearly, but it was the longing that nearly punched through her skin, that left her breathless and at a loss. It was her turn to stare at someone from across the room and communicate in nods, and pretend to everyone around them that there wasn't anything other than the concern of friendship there. Carol and Daryl had been doing it for a year. Was that what she had to look forward to, Beth wondered, prising one finger free and considering it a victory. Merle had handed her a sentence she had no idea how to deal with, and now she was surgically attached to damn balcony railing because she didn't trust herself not to reveal how very much she cared.

Whilst Beth argued with herself, Maggie had come up beside her, an irritated look on her face. "That man is impossible," she muttered, glancing down at the work that had been accomplished whilst she searched the tombs, and raising her eyebrows. "You and Daryl are probably the only people who haven't thought about killing him."

"Mmmhmm," she answered vaguely, glancing around as Rick passed by and noting the shadow of a growing bruise around his eye. "What happened down there?"

"Huh? Oh -" Maggie shook her head. "He thought Daryl might've been bit…held a gun to his head, you know how he is. And then Merle -"

Despite her spiralling emotions, Beth couldn't help smiling. He was leaning against the doorway of Doctor Stevens' cell, watching as she and Hershel examined his brother. Merle's eyes were narrowed, and he glared darkly at Rick when the other man made as if to approach. "Of course he did," she sighed, wondering how it was possible to despise violence and yet feel such overwhelming affection for a man who perpetrated it so often. At a loss for what else to do, Beth straightened up and tentatively loosened her grip. When she was quite sure nothing worse was going to happen, she stepped back and looked at her sister. "We need to get on and get this done. Don't want to be sleeping in here way it is."

* * *

Beth had never been a stranger to hard work; living on the farm had inured her the kind of manual labour that would get the best of other girls. Keeping horses required endless dedication to mucking out the stables, grooming, and maintaining tack, and Hershel hadn't let any of his children slack off in their duties. But once the initial shock of having survived against the odds had worn off, all her body's complaints had begun to make themselves known. Blazing Georgia sunshine beat down on her from high overhead, making the putrid scent of rotting bodies almost unbearable. Her clothes were drenched with sweat, sticking and chafing her skin. Her head throbbed and, even though she sipped from the water bottle that Carol had brought her, her throat felt scratchy and raw.

As the afternoon approached, however, the pyre they'd built outside had taken shape. Beth wasn't convinced of the wisdom of having such an enormous fire to announce their presence for miles around, but it was the only way to safely dispose of the corpses. Tyreese and Glenn had been hard at work digging graves for the victims of the Woodbury group, and they would be the last to be moved outside, each wrapped carefully in sheets.

Summoning the final reserves of her strength, Beth helped Maggie shove the emaciated corpse of a young woman atop the pile, before stumbling across the yard to the nearest bench and sinking down onto it. "Auuuugh," she groaned, pulling at the collar of her drenched, blood-stained t-shirt. "Please tell me that's all of them."

Maggie slumped across from her, scruffing a filthy hand through her hair. "Yeah. Once the boys are done, we'll go get cleaned up. Rick wants to have the funeral tonight."

"Those poor people," Beth muttered. "They haven't even been here a day and almost half of them are already gone. Bet they're wishing they never left Woodbury."

"Hmph."

She looked up sharply. "What?"

The expression on Maggie's face was uncomfortable. "It wasn't an accident, Bethy. Somebody opened that door. And, since Andrea and Merle were in your sights all morning, it could only have been one of the new people."

Beth swallowed hard. Her mind immediately drifted to Karen and her suspicions about the other woman, the last of the Governor's soldiers. What if she'd survived because he planned it that way? Michonne had come up with the idea of infiltrating his town, and it wasn't unfathomable that he'd taken a leaf out of their book. "Did Rick -"

"He ain't said anything yet. There's gonna be a meeting later. We need to decide what to do with them."

"Most of the ones left are kids," she pointed out. "It's only the two doctors, the old guy, and…"

"Yeah."

Having Maggie confirm what she was thinking was unsettling. Beth drummed her fingers on the table. "Merle thinks she can be trusted." Even as the words left her mouth, she realised that assessment would neither be any kind of reassuring to her sister, nor was it likely to still be applicable. The man was nothing if not deeply suspicious of those around him; should the slightest bit of doubt be cast on Karen's involvement in the situation that almost got him and his brother killed, Beth was certain he'd change his tune about her.

"Well, _that_ sure makes me feel better," Maggie said dryly. "Anyway, there's no point speculating about it. C'mon, let's go in, there's nothing else we can do out here."

* * *

Despite having missed lunch, Beth wasn't at all hungry. She sloped into the cellblock, and started upstairs, intending to look in on her father and Daryl, when raised voices reached her ears.

"Now, Jackson -"

"Stay out of it, woman! Gabe's fine, there ain't nothing wrong with him -"

"Kid's bit," Rick's smooth tone declared, and Beth sped up, staggering onto the balcony to see everyone clustered around one of the cells. "I'm sorry for that, but we can't let him turn."

The man known as Jackson stood in the doorway, a shotgun held diagonally across his chest, a furious, frantic look in his eyes. Dr. Stevens was trying to talk him down, but he seemed to be ignoring her in favour of watching Rick. Beth recognised him as Eileen's father.

"I lost my girl," he hissed. "You people were sposed to protect her, an' now she's dead, an' you wanna take my grandson away too?" Shifting, he pointed the gun straight at Rick. "Over my dead body."

There was no way this was going to end well, Beth knew. Emotions were running high, and she could see the tightening around Rick's eyes. He didn't want to have to be the one to put down a child; leader or not, it wasn't a job that came easily to any of them. Craning to see into the cell around Jackson, she realised that the kid wasn't even restrained, he was just lying there on the bed, likely already slipping into a fever-induced coma. It wouldn't be long until he turned.

"It isn't about what I want," Rick growled. "He's bit. He's gonna turn. Nothing anyone can do about it, 'cept make sure he doesn't take other people with him." He was tired, Beth could hear it in his sharp, stabbing words. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't the best way to deal with it, and staring down the barrel of a shotgun, she wasn't sure what else they should expect. He took a step forward, and Jackson's finger met the trigger, one tiny ounce of pressure away from blowing a hole in Rick's skull.

"I'm warning you," Jackson snarled. "One more step -"

"Jackson, he's dying," Dr. Stevens told him a pleading voice. "Don't let him come back; Eileen wouldn't want -"

"I don't need you telling me what she'd want!" he roared, spittle flecking his lips. "There ain't nothing going to happen to him. I couldn't save her an' the baby, but I'm damn well not going to let this murderer have Gabe."

"That's enough," Rick said firmly. "Either you deal with this, or you leave. _Now_. I don't need you putting my people in danger -"

"Oh ho, _your _people. Yeah, I notice none of _your_ people are in them bodybags."

"You tryin' to say something?" Their leader's face darkened with anger, and Beth unconsciously reached out to rest her hand on his arm. Jackson was trying to get him riled up, and he was aiming his barbs at the worst possible subject. Rick was liable to spill some particularly nasty truths about how the attack had come about in his heightened state, and the peace they had was precarious enough as it was.

"Seems awful convenient, don't it? You bring us here, you get all that stuff outta Woodbury, and the very next day half of us are dead. At least the Governor -"

"The Governor is a psychopath who killed his own guards for deserting."

"You people started this," Jackson spat. "Ever since you came on the scene, it's been nothing but war. Seems to me like you need a taste of your own medicine -" Beth froze in shock as she found herself looking down the barrel of the old man's shotgun. She stared at it with an unearthly sense of detachment, beyond the point of understanding how it had come to be. He'd abandoned Rick and chosen her instead, and she couldn't fathom why he was pinning her with such burning hatred. "What's say I take one you care about? How's that -"

_BANG._

For the second time in the same day, Beth experienced looking into a man's face as a bullet passed through his brain. Unlike the walker that had grabbed hold of her in the guard tower, she saw Jackson's life extinguished in front of her, the light going out in his eyes, and his expression falling slack as he dropped to the floor. It was so quick, everything happening in the space of a breath, a moment to go from terror to hollowness. The gun rolled out of his hands and came to rest at her feet, and the silence rang with reeling thoughts. Merle stepped over the old man's prone body and entered the cell, spending another shot to ensure that Gabe made the journey with his grandfather.

When she looked at him, Merle's eyes were as lifeless as Jackson's.

* * *

Minutes passed. How many, she wasn't sure. Around her, voices accused, reasoned, argued. It was like the farm all over again, all the pointless talking when the deed had already been done and the outcome decided. Before he died, Jackson had kicked the hornets nest, and now they were left to deal with the fallout in whatever way they could. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that Merle had overreacted to a grieving old man making empty threats in his throes of despair. Finally he'd growled at the lot of them and stalked off, slamming the outside door with enough force to reverberate through the entire building.

Beth wasn't sure how true it was. She'd been the one to see the creeping darkness inside Jackson as he reasoned out a possible explanation for Rick's decision to bring the remaining Woodbury survivors to the prison - and he didn't know Rick well enough to realise that he was inherently good. Perhaps Jackson had believed it, or perhaps he was just grasping at something to strengthen his resolve, but there was every possibility that the confrontation would have ended with her dead too. Once again, Merle had stepped up and done the dirty work that Rick just couldn't bring himself to.

Merle had saved her life.

Picking herself up off the stairs, she slipped away unnoticed in the melee, grabbing a full bottle of water as she went. It wasn't the bourbon he'd probably appreciate far more, but Hershel regulated the supply of alcohol for cleaning injuries, and he'd definitely notice if any of it went wandering. Besides, Beth had a sneaking suspicion that getting Merle drunk would be a recipe for disaster; he was volatile enough sober.

The courtyard was deserted. Trying to quell the dreadful thought that he might've just decided he'd had enough with all of them and left, she wandered past the pyre and through into the little-used area where they kept the spare, beat-up old truck they'd used before the new additions from Woodbury. Sure enough, Merle was sitting on the tailgate, propped up on several wooden pallets. His eyes were closed, and she hung back a moment to really look at him - the first such luxury she'd allowed herself since before the attack that morning. Rose-gold afternoon sunshine was kind to the sharp angles and deep shadows of his face; the scars from his time with the Governor had been joined by several from the tombs; and he was sporting a growth of grey stubble that made him look even more rough and unkempt than all the walker gore. It didn't matter, none of it. Beth wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and stay there as long as he'd allow it.

Reality, of course, wasn't nearly so obliging as her idle wishes. As soon as Merle realised she was there, his body tensed, eyes the colour of chipped ice glaring at her from beneath his brows. "Ya got somethin' ter say?" he snarled, and she felt as if she could hear the depths of his self-loathing in that one question.

Biting her lip, Beth shook her head and closed the distance between herself and the truck, holding out the water bottle like a placating gesture.

For a while, longer than she would have preferred, he just looked at it. Her shoulder began to ache. She'd done a full day's fighting for her life followed by some intense physical labour, and her muscles were on the verge of mutiny. Sighing, Beth placed it next to him on the tailgate and turned around, levering herself up clumsily with arms that felt like overcooked noodles.

He didn't move.

"Thank you," she blurted out suddenly, flushing at her complete inability to approach him like a normal person instead of a stuttering idiot. "I know that was difficult."

A grunt. Well, that was progress.

Then - "It weren't."

Beth stared down at a bloodstain on the left thigh of her jeans that was shaped a little like a heart, and remembered how it felt to be afraid - first when the walker had grabbed hold of her, and again when Jackson stared at her down the sight of a shotgun. This wasn't comparable to either of those situations. Her life wasn't in danger, just her sanity and self-respect. To hell with it, she thought, and reached out, taking Merle's hand and twining her fingers with his.

To her surprise, he didn't shove her off the tailgate. He didn't do anything at all for a few seconds, then - very gently - he squeezed her hand.

A smile as bright and brilliant as the sun peeking from behind a cloud was directed at the concrete in front of them, and she let out a breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. Kicking her legs a little, Beth glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I hope you cleared out the shower block whilst you were down there," she said conversationally. "Cause you could really do with one."

Merle began to laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author Note: This chapter took for-fucking-ever. I'm not 100% happy with it, but I really don't want to keep you all waiting any longer. Also, visit my tumblr (linked on my profile page) for updates, sneak previews, and other random Walking-Dead-related stuff._

* * *

**SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

"…An' he's stumblin' round with that fuckin' possum stuck on his head, swearin' an' hollerin'…Next thing I know, he's thrown it at tha wall, an' tha damn thing punches a hole straight through tha plaster. It's jes' hangin' there like some kinda trophy…thought tha kid was gonna start cryin', but he turns ta me, all proud 'n shit, an' he says, _'Hey, bro, dinner's on me!_'"

Beth could hardly breathe. She was leaning against him, her shoulders shaking and tears in her eyes as her laughter mingled with Merle's deep chuckles. "Oh, Daryl…" she giggled, shaking her head. "That's brilliant." She wasn't quite sure how they'd ended up sitting out in the yard for so long, swapping silly stories instead of confronting the other thing that had him all riled up, but Beth felt like she'd learned more about the brothers in that hour than she had about Daryl in the entire year she'd known him. It was also the first time she'd laughed, _really _laughed, in months. The others could paint him as the bad guy - she didn't think that was the problem; she didn't think he was the villain of his story any more than she was the heroine of hers - but beyond the swagger and the growling was a man who put the same value in his family as she did, albeit in a slightly different way. "How old was he?"

"Musta been five or six," Merle mused, a strangely wistful smile on his face. "Figured we could jes' tell our pa I was tryin' ter make a smokin' vent…still beat seven bells outta me, but it was worth every fuckin' second."

Without warning, she found herself transitioning from the amusement of the story to the horror of what came after it. Merle's matter-of-fact tone didn't invite sympathy, but she pressed her cheek against the hard curve of his shoulder and fought the urge to turn her head, brush her lips over his slick skin, show him in some tangible way how amazing she found him. All attraction aside, she knew he wouldn't appreciate anything he could interpret as pity. Indeed, when she didn't respond immediately, the corners of his eyes tightened a fraction, and Beth grasped for something to say. "Did…um…did Daryl really fall down the stairs? In the cellblock, I mean."

He wasn't expecting it. Merle looked down at her guardedly. "Why'd ya ask?"

"It seems unlikely," Beth pointed out. "He's not normally so clumsy…well, except for that time in the woods, but -"

"What time in tha woods?"

His tone was sharp, and she realised he wouldn't have known about his brother's adventure in the forest that bordered their farm. "Oh -" she bit her lip. "When Sofia disappeared Daryl went searching for her on one of our horses -"

"Stupid," Merle grunted. "Din't learn a damn thing from Officer Friendly's adventures in -"

"You gonna let me tell this story?" He snorted at her pert tone, but made a acquiescing gesture with his bayonet. "_Thank you._ Anyway, the horse freaked out when it smelled walker, and tossed Daryl down a ravine. Some other stuff happened…he took an arrow in the side and got pretty beat up along the way. And _then _when he finally did make it back to the farm, Andrea mistook him for one of them and shot him in the head."

Merle jerked upright and stared at her. "Blondie did _what_ now?"

"I know," she said emphatically. "He was lucky her aim was off."

"Huh. She never mentioned it."

Beth turned wide eyes on him. "And you're _surprised_ by that?"

"Ya tryin' ter say somethin'?"

"Yes," she laughed, nudging him playfully. "You know most of them are scared of you. They won't admit it, of course, but they are."

"But yer not."

That would have been fairly hard to dispute considering their cozy, familiar position at that point, and Beth sensed something heavier behind his words. Letting her eyes flutter closed, she made her body relax against his arm. "You've never given me a reason to be." Not in the way other people were, at least. Most people weren't in danger of falling for him, pacts of friendship aside, and Beth suspected she was in for a world of hurt that way - but in terms of her physical safety, she could tell him the absolute truth.

"He din't fall down tha stairs," Merle agreed at last. "He jes' told his woman that so's she wouldn't worry."

"Mmmhmm," she smiled at his reference for Carol. Most everyone got pet names - for better or worse - that corresponded to whatever aspect of themselves Merle found most prevalent. In Carol's case, he clearly thought of her as Daryl's property, irrespective of actual claim. "What happened down there?"

"It don't matter." His arm flexed against her ribs as he took a drink, and Beth fought down the impulse to sigh.

"It doesn't matter, or you don't want to tell me?"

"Pick one," Merle growled, but there was no real heat behind it. "It was a fuckin' mess. Not worth talkin' bout."

She glanced sideways, and wondered if he wasn't giving her the same treatment his brother had given Carol, albeit in his own unique way. The thought lodged in her chest and warmed her from the inside out. "If you say so," she hummed as Merle gulped down the last of the water. "I better get back. It's not fair leaving Carol to deal with Judith and dinner by herself." She slid off the tailgate, wincing slightly at how rough her clothes felt on her skin, and was surprised to feel the truck bounce as Merle joined her. "You're…" she began, looking up at him. "What are you doing?"

"Checkin' on Daryl."

"Oh. Right."

Merle narrowed his eyes, and she blushed, dropping her eyes to her boots. "Lil' girl, I ain't leavin'," he rumbled after a moment, and Beth was once again left marvelling at his ability to read her like book. "Them pricks kin pass judgement on me an' call me a murderer all they like -"

"They're wrong," she snapped, and immediately looked abashed when he raised an eyebrow. Burying her hands in her pockets, Beth rocked back on her heels. "Rick's good leader, but ever since Lori died, he's started second guessing himself," she said more softly. "Then after what happened with Michonne…if you hadn't done something about Jackson, there was every possibility he wouldn't have either."

"Then mebbe y'all should think about puttin' me in charge, huh?" Self-effacing, blustering with a vicious sort of bravado. She wondered what would happen if they did what he mockingly suggested. Merle didn't seem to think it was a viable option, not from the way he said it, but Beth knew it wasn't ultimately any more preposterous than some of the other ideas they'd had. He'd obviously been well-respected in Woodbury; the people still looked to him for guidance. And it was two of those people he'd shot, not because he wanted to show Rick up or assert his authority. Beth was sure of that much.

"That isn't why you did it."

There was a long pause from Merle, and for a moment she thought he was going to lapse into complete silence. Then - "No."

"Wasn't a question." Her back was to him as he followed her across the courtyard and towards the main door.

He barked out a laugh. "Ya really wanna make me out ta be a good person, dontcha? I ain't some pretty boy prince in one o' yer fairytales, darlin'."

Beth paused in the doorway. Two steps above him, it was odd to experience Merle looking up at _her _instead of the other way around, but just that tiny change in height gave her confidence to say what needed to be said. It would take longer than a few days to undo the work of years, though unlike if she was a man, he didn't seem to feel the need to tell her to grow a pair at the merest mention of feelings. Thanks be to God for small mercies, she thought, and rested her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingertips into the bunched muscles. He looked nonplussed. "There is not a just man on earth that doeth good, and sinneth not."

"Ecclesiastes, seven-twenty. Yer daddy thinks every problem kin be solved wit' one o' them quotes from tha bible, too."

"The world can't be divided into good and bad, Merle," she told him quietly, her huge blue eyes boring into his. "If it could, a lot more of us would be alive, the Governor would be dead, and you'd still have both your hands." He flinched, but Beth was ready for that, and she cupped his cheek, ignoring the hard frown on his face. "But there's good in you. I see it…even if you don't."

For an instant, in the space of a blink, Beth felt as if she could see _everything_; every awful thing that pulled him down like weights wrapped around his soul. But when he opened his eyes again, they were cold and blank as slate, and he shrugged out of her hold. "Yer jes' a kid," Merle snarled, and she wondered if he appreciated the symbolism of _this_ door he was pushing open, when only yesterday he was outside of it, admonishing Karen for believing exactly the same thing. "Ya don't know half tha things I've done, or ya wouldn't be so quick ter give me absolution."

* * *

They had gone their own ways after that: Beth to help finish with the clean up, and a glowering Merle to look in on his brother. On the back of their courtyard disagreement, she thought it best to let him alone for a while. She liked to imagine him as a particularly complex jigsaw puzzle: assembling the outer edges was easy enough, but progress slowed greatly the further in she worked. That was an analogy of which she was quite proud, having come up with it whilst mopping the stairs with bleach. It was incredible how much work the group had managed to get done in such a short period of time. The common area and cellblock had been scrubbed down and reassembled, and aside from the pockmarks of a bullet hailstorm visible on most of the walls, there was very little evidence of what had taken place.

"Can we go down there now?" she asked Glenn, peering into the gloom beyond the door at the far end of the cellblock.

The young man nodded. "We barricaded the breach. It's just temporary until we figure out something better, but the tombs are safe -" he made a face. "Mostly."

"So…we can…" Beth was almost afraid to ask. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than a shower.

Glenn laughed. "Yep! We're going in shifts, some to shower, and the rest to guard. Rick's even gone to the infirmary to get Daryl a wheelchair."

Her eyes widened. She wasn't sure if she was more surprised by the idea of Daryl being made to shower - he seemed to think that personal hygiene was something only pansy asses bothered with - or how seriously Rick was taking the funeral. Scrubbing up was an indulgence, even when the water was freezing.

"C'mon, Beth," Andrea interrupted, practically skipping down the stairs with a basket of clean clothes under one arm. "Grab your stuff, we're going first."

Abandoning her mop and bucket next to the door, Beth dashed to her cell, feeling invigorated by the thought of washing all the walker gore off herself. Fortunately, it hadn't been disturbed in the attack, though it was with some dismay that she examined the sad remnants of her clothing collection. With her capris abandoned in Woodbury, and the jeans she was wearing completely unsalvageable, her only choice was a pair of denim cutoffs paired with a tank top - an outfit that seemed oddly disrespectful for a funeral. Unless…Beth dug to the bottom of the small crate, unearthing the linen bag she'd taken from one of the houses they'd holed up in on the road. It was a ridiculous frivolity for the life they led, and if anyone but Carol had known about it, they would've told her it was stupid.

Along with Andrea, Michonne, Maggie and Carol, she was ushered into the large communal shower room whilst Rick and Glenn stood guard outside. Before they'd left the farm, Beth had been particularly hesitant about changing in front of other people, even other women, but it was just one more thing she'd had to get used to over the last winter. In that moment, she didn't care at all, more desperate to feel clean than preserve her modesty. "I am _not_ looking forward to trying to get the stains out of this lot," she snorted, shucking her jeans on the pile of bloodstained garments that had built up.

"Did they have working machines in Woodbury?" Carol asked Andrea as the blonde gingerly turned on the shower and gasped at the rush of cold water that sprayed down on her.

"Gah! Yes - hot water too. We need to have Bob take a look at the generators here, maybe he can rig something up."

"That would be heavenly," Beth sighed, before she ducked under the water and clamped her teeth together to stop them from chattering. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but as she looked down at the muddy residue swirling down the drain, she was grateful to even have the option. "Hey, did anyone bring shampoo?"

"Catch -" Michonne tossed her a bottle from across the room, and Beth grinned when she realised it was the cheap strawberry soap she'd used two nights ago. "Swiped it from the Woodbury stores. Only thing I liked about that place."

Beth filled her palm with it and passed the bottle to Carol. "Me too," she admitted, working half of the shampoo into her hair, and using the rest to scrub at her skin until it was raw and pink. After a while, she'd become so accustomed to the icy hostility of the water beating down on her that it almost felt warm. A rough sponge stripped off layers of dried blood and sweat, and little by little she began to feel more human. It was amazing how much better everything seemed when she didn't smell like death.

They were in long enough for Glenn to start making jokes through the door about how long women took to get ready - something for which they sympathised with Maggie, loudly and ultimately to her fiancé's embarrassment - but eventually they were done. Michonne was the first dressed, of course, and Beth the last, emerging from behind a bank of lockers timidly.

"Oh, Beth!" Maggie exclaimed. "You look lovely…where did you get that?"

It was a Sunday dress, white and trimmed in lace, with a pale pink ribbon that tied in a bow beneath her bust. It wasn't a perfect fit, but Beth was used to having clothes hang off her these days, and it was so much nicer than anything else she'd worn for almost a year. "Picked it up on the road," she explained, sliding her feet into her worn out cowboy boots and carefully gathering up the rest of their clothes into Andrea's basket. "Thought maybe it'd come in handy for something...I was going to save it for the wedding but -" Beth shrugged, helplessly. "I've run out of suitable clothes."

"Yeah. You're not the only one," Andrea sighed, plucking at her threadbare overshirt. "Think Rick would let us go on a little shopping trip?" she said, wiggling her brows and smirking

"No harm in asking..." Maggie said doubtfully.

Beth could just imagine the look on his face when they suggested it, and thought it fortunate that Maggie, Andrea and Michonne were considered such good fighters that they wouldn't need to send anyone else along to supervise. Rick could argue it was a foolish errand when there were more important things to think about, but she noticed he wore his sheriff's uniform a lot of the time - that was something she considered to be more of an emotional indulgence than a practicality. Still, sometimes he surprised her with perceptiveness, and they needed a way to boost their flagging spirits.

* * *

"No," Rick said flatly, when Andrea suggested it as they walked back through the tombs in pairs. "Absolutely not, it's too dangerous. The Governor's out there somewhere, planning his revenge. You leaving the prison -"

"Is something that's going to have to happen eventually," Andrea insisted. "You can't keep us all locked up here, Rick. That's not living, it's just waiting to die."

"Merle doesn't think the Governor's going to make a move until he's got more manpower," Beth told them, amusing herself by thinking of what Merle's reaction might be to her using his opinion as the basis to sell Rick on their shopping trip. That was probably the redneck equivalent of putting his balls in a blender.

Rick snorted. "I ain't asking what Merle Dixon thinks about anything."

"You should," she shrugged mildly. "He was with him for the longest. He knows how the Governor operates."

"Yeah," Glenn sneered. "Probably taught him all he knows."

Beth felt the irritation set in, creeping under her skin, and tried to stay calm. Change was possible, but it wasn't going to happen overnight, and not everyone had the benefit of seeing the better side of Merle. All Glenn and the others had seen today was a man who fought his way into the middle of a walker herd, punched Rick in the face, and killed a grieving grandfather. Her tone was measured when she finally said - "That's not fair."

"Merle's a thug and a murderer. What he did to Jackson's no different to what the Governor did to his soldiers."

"He was repaying a debt," Carol interjected, and Beth nearly tripped over her own boots. Well, she already thought Daryl had a code; maybe it wasn't that much of a stretch to assume the same of Merle - even though it was a far more complex set of rules he kept. "Beth saved his life, so he had to do the same."

"I doubt -"

"Glenn," Beth said sharply. "I get it. But we all have to live with each other, for _better or worse_, and if we don't start pulling together, more of us are going to end up dead." She shouldn't be the one to have to tell them this. She knew that. Worse still, they knew it; from the silence that followed, it was clear that no one wanted to be the voice of dissension that spoke against reasoned wisdom. It was no blessing being able to see both sides of the argument - not resolutely taking Glenn and Maggie's side felt like a betrayal, but at the same time, she understood the way Merle was, and they needed men like him as much as he needed them. "Can you - all of you - just _try_? Please?"

They were almost back in the cellblock when Rick blew out a sigh. To her, it was the sound of victory…of a sort. "Fine. Two of you can go - _not_ Andrea; you're still healing - and, since he's such an expert, you can take Merle with you."

Glenn's spiteful, tension-breaking chuckles were clearly audible from the vanguard. Unfortunately for all concerned, Merle was waiting by the door when they returned, Daryl fidgeting in his wheelchair next to him. "Take Merle where?" the man himself rasped, glaring at Rick with ill-disguised suspicion.

"Shopping," Michonne said smoothly, and Beth swore she saw a hint of a swagger as the ninja passed by. "Consider yourself volunteered."

Beth wasn't sure what it meant that his eyes automatically sought her out, and for a moment she was convinced he was going to say something cutting about how real men didn't shop or volunteer, or whatever it was he could find to be specifically annoyed about. But instead, his gaze seemed to get stuck somewhere south of her chin, and he was frowning. "Uh...huh," he managed. Daryl snorted a laugh that appeared to jog Merle out of his stupor. "Whatever. It'll have to wait," he grunted, tearing his gaze away from Beth and shoving the wheelchair through the doorway with more force than strictly necessary. "I'm buildin' a wall tomorrow."

He was gone before she realised he hadn't actually refused.

* * *

"I'll take that one out, Carol," she said eagerly that night as the older woman was dishing up dinner. "You go and sit down." She'd plated up a portion for Merle who was sitting a lonely evening watch in the one remaining guard tower, and Beth felt like he'd probably had enough time to forget that they were supposed to be arguing. Besides, she had it on good authority that men were much nicer when their bellies were full, and Carol had pulled together a respectable meal from their recently added supplies in the absence of fresh meat - though frankly, Beth was delighted to be eating something that was notionally a food. With every credit to Daryl, without whom they would've starved, she didn't think she'd ever get used to squirrel, possum and owl being staples of her diet. Canned beef in gravy seemed like an unimaginable luxury, especially when paired with mashed potatoes and vegetables.

"If you're sure," Carol shrugged, handing it over with odd look in her doe eyes. "You and Merle seem on good terms."

The way she said it, so careful not to inflect something that might not be accurate, made Beth smile. "He's easier to be friends with than he seems," she offered, grabbing two forks from the cutlery holder. "Once you get past the attitude, he's really…he's worth getting to know." She blushed slightly as Carol's eyebrows rose, realising she'd said more than she needed to about her unlikely friendship with Merle. Loading a tray with the two plates, and two plastic cups of orange squash, she made a hasty exit before the other woman could question her further.

Not that there was anything to tell, she thought with a twinge of bitterness. If either of them was the problem in the scenario, it was her. Merle had been…well, not a perfect gentleman, she admitted, but it was close enough. He'd dismissed the possibility of having a physical relationship with her out of hand, and regardless of his motives or the fact that it hadn't done a damn thing to block out _her_ feelings, it was enough to know that her daddy wouldn't be after him with a shotgun any time soon.

_That _was a horrifying thought, and she put it behind her as she climbed the tower staircase into the guardroom at the top. Merle was kicked back in a chair, his boots resting on the corner of the table, and his assault rifle in easy reach. "Ain't one fer givin' up easy, are ya girlie?" he rumbled, not turning around. She bit her lower lip and tried not to stare at the broad line of his shoulders or fixate on how absurdly sexy she could find a leather waistcoat and wifebeater combination.

"How did you know it was me?" Beth asked, electing to gloss over the part where he still sounded grumpy as she slid the tray onto the table.

"Yer boots."

"_Really_?" She barely made a sound; Merle must have hearing like a hawk.

He grunted, levering himself to his feet and turning around. Until that point, she'd not appreciated how good he could look all scrubbed up and clean-shaven. Beth was glad she'd already put the tray down, and found herself leaning one hand rather heavily on the table. "I um…I brought you dinner," she breathed, eyes wide open and drinking him in. His expression wasn't exactly welcoming, but he hadn't told her to get lost either, so that could only be a good sign.

"Ya stayin'?"

"That's up to you," she told him quietly, brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Are you still mad at me?"

A strange look crossed his face, but it was quickly tucked away as he picked up one of the plates. "I'm wonderin' how ya managed ter _volunteer_ me fer a run."

"Oh…that," Beth cringed. "Well the run was Andrea's idea, and she was trying to convince Rick to let some of us go out…I just happened to mention your thoughts about the Governor and it spiralled from there. Pretty sure this is Rick's idea of a punishment."

"Figures."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "You don't have to -"

"What're we shoppin' fer?"

That wasn't what she expected. Beth floundered for a second, during which she realised that Merle was making substantial inroads into his meal, somehow balancing the plate in the crook of his arm and shovelling the food in as if he expected it to be snatched from him at any moment. "Clothes. We're all down to the bare bones, and…well…I can hardly kill walkers in _this_."

Merle paused in his focused consumption, and looked over at her with far more intensity than he had down in the cellblock. She could practically _feel_ the path his eyes took, from the frothy little capped sleeves to the sweetheart neckline that dipped lower than her usual t-shirts; the cheerful flash of pink ribbon, to the lace-edged skirt that swirled just above her knees. Beth flushed with the heat of his gaze. "Spose not," he said at length, his voice nothing more than a low rasp in the back of his throat. "Would be a sight ter see though. Ya gonna eat that or what?"

It was a beat before she realised he'd turned his attention to her plate and was eyeing it speculatively. Struggling to pull herself together and breathe normally, Beth snatched her meal across the table and plunked herself down in the spare chair. The ache in her stomach was less confusing than the desperate hunger she felt when he looked at her - and much easier to deal with. Surprisingly, Merle sat back down too, though he hunched over his plate, and she realised it was probably a throwback from his time in prison.

Her hands were shaking. It took her every ounce of her concentration just to eat, and Beth chewed without tasting a thing. It didn't help that Merle kept his gaze on her almost constantly, the muscles of his exposed arms bunching and rippling as he fidgeted in place. At length, he said, "I ain't angry wit' ya. I jes'…" his mouth flattened and the words trailed off uncharacteristically. Beth wondered if he even knew why he felt the way he felt.

"Don't trust me?" she suggested wryly, ignoring the way the creases around his eyes deepened. "It's okay, Merle. It's only been a few days. I'm not expecting a miracle."

"That what ya think?" His tone was low and resonating with something dark, dangerous.

"Am I wrong?" she said softly. "This…dance we do, that's not about you trying to figure out what I want from you? When I'm going to call in the favour?"

He didn't answer.

Beth swallowed, putting down her fork and pushing her plate aside. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry at all. "Carol said that what you did…to Jackson…that was you repaying a debt. I didn't think about it like that until now, but she - she has a point, doesn't she? You don't _owe_ me any more."

"Tha Governor never let me forget where I came from," Merle told her harshly. "Woulda killed him before -"

"I'm not the Governor." Pushing back her chair, she walked to the balcony and looked out over the dark, empty grounds of the prison. It didn't make sense for her to be hurt, Beth knew that. Even just having an open conversation like this was progress when it came to him. But she was anyway. Everything had moved so fast…she'd built him up in her head, in all the time she had to think and start to care, and it was difficult to keep in mind that, to Merle, she was still just some stranger who inexplicably decided to save his life.

She didn't turn around when she heard his chair scrape back on the concrete, or the light hush of his steps, or even when his large, warm hand came to rest at the base of her spine. "All tha things ya said about family 'n shit," Merle murmured gruffly. "Figured it was jes' talk. I never cared fer anyone who ain't my blood…couldn't imagine why anyone else would."

A tiny smile edged onto her face. She knew what a huge leap it was for him just to admit that he was wary of her motives, but she couldn't help teasing him just a little. "That an apology I'm hearing?"

He snorted. "Lil' girl, don't push yer luck. I'm jes' sayin'. It was a big deal, what ya did."

Beth felt drunk on exhaustion, relief, and adoration. It had been the longest day of her life, first with the lack of sleep, and then the walker attack, not knowing if the people she cared about were dead. It wasn't nearly over yet; they still had a funeral and a meeting to attend, and there was still so much reparation to be done. But Merle was here, and he was safe, and he was managing to both apologise to her and thank her in the same conversation. Without a hint of hesitation, she turned and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his chest.

He froze. "Hey now, hold on -"

"Merle," she sighed, her voice slightly muffled. "Just…shut up for a minute."

To her surprise, he actually listened. After a few moments, Beth felt his muscles slowly begin to relax, and his arms came up around her. It wasn't the first time she'd hugged him, or even the first time she'd been held by him, but it _was_ the first time she'd really been able to enjoy it. The smell of soap and gun oil and musk filled her lungs, and every nerve ending responded to the immense heat he radiated, branding her skin. His fingertips trailed up her spine, tangling in her hair and gently pulling her head back. As she looked up into his face, her breaths long and slow in her chest, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more at that moment than for Merle to kiss her. Pressing herself against him, Beth raised herself up on her tiptoes, lashes fluttering closed in anticipation.

In the doorway, someone loudly cleared their throat.


End file.
